


Turn the Wheel and the Future Changes

by SecretAgentFemme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts First Year, M/M, Time Travel, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4943980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretAgentFemme/pseuds/SecretAgentFemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this tumblr post: http://hogwartskidsproblems.tumblr.com/post/129176130152/take-me-back-to-the-start-based </p><p>Draco Malfoy has a compelling reason to make a different choice during his first meeting with famous Harry Potter. Possible future eventual Drarry, but that would either be some serious time jumps or a way longer story than I suspect I have in me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously the characters don't belong to me. 
> 
> Additionally, I haven't written fanfiction since writing about Taylor Hanson turning into a vampire when I was in 7th grade, so please be gentle with me (and also please don't judge me for that). Really, feel free to provide any feedback, positive or constructive, including britpicking, etc. I'm totally American and I can't help that, but I can take suggestions to make my language more authentic and would be happy to where it fits. I do reserve artistic license to override any suggestions. :)  
> Please let me know if I should continue? Not so much fishing as just wondering if I should bother. It's not an original story, insomuch as its just a bit of what if, for now.  
> I marked it gen for now and I suppose I'll add warnings if it becomes necessary.

Knee high dragon hide boots with scuffs and wear marks that were concealed carefully under a small glamour charm were necessary footwear to make it up the drive to the Manor without incurring many small wounds from the overgrown hedges that lined the path to the door. While Draco hadn’t worn the boots with the intention of protection against the Praesidium Sepimentum that had grown to massive size since he’d last stepped foot on Malfoy land, he was nevertheless pleased that they came in handy as protection against the Praesidium’s sharp leaf saws and hooked barbs. They proved no obstacle to the young man’s progress toward the front door, thanks in large part to the dragon hide, and Draco was grateful he could navigate there without having to use a spell to remove the plant. He’d need every ounce of his magical energy to perform the complicated incantation he had planned. 

In fact, he was tempted to let go of the glamours that invisibly altered his appearance (in several subtle but appealing ways), but decided they were too minor to make a difference. Of course, there was also the small matter of pride to consider. He couldn’t very well show up looking like a homeless person and expect to be taken seriously. He couldn’t do anything about the gauntness in his face or the deep hollows beneath his eyes, but he could ensure the damage they caused to his cutting figure were minimized by clothes that appeared a bit finer than they were, and jewels that glimmered in a way that indicated quiet wealth (but were really no more than tarnished replicas of pieces long past solid). After all the preparations that had gone into this day; the Galleons, the time spent pouring over dusty tomes in various parts of the Ministry and other locales, the back alley handshakes and bartering, he wasn’t about to let something like his shabby robes set him back. 

Reaching the front of the Manor at last, Draco took a moment to resettle his robes about his person and take a few deep breaths; both to calm his jangling nerves and to catch his breath. The drive had required a bit more athleticism than anticipated, but no matter, he’d made it. With his chin lifted, he strode toward the oversized front door adorned with a large silver knocker in the shape of a coiled serpent with its head outstretched in greeting. As he closed the distance to the door the serpent’s head moved leisurely, swaying back and forth as it uncoiled in front of him. Draco had always been told that the snake was enchanted to detect the magical signatures of each member of the Malfoy family, as well as those the Head of the family had specifically requested. After detecting the Malfoy heritage in Draco’s blood, the serpent returned to motionless metal as the door swung open.

The art of pausing for a magical door to open itself for you was one of long practice. Draco had been schooled by his mother from the moment he could walk on how to pause before a magical entrance while it opened for you, with proper dignity and authority. This way you were never seen in one of those cringe-worthy moments he had witnessed often with lesser bred wizards, where they seemed to shift their weight from foot to foot like a Muggle child needing to use the toilet as they stood awkwardly for the seconds it took a magical door to recognize you and grant entrance. Unfortunately for Draco, his well-practiced pause and stride motion lost some of its dignity when he was forced to pull back his step abruptly as the door screeched to a stop after only opening about a foot. He almost stumbled into the door, but caught himself with one pale, boney hand, pressed to the doorframe. He gripped the frame a bit harder than necessary, to the point that the tendons in his right hand stood out against the anemic pallor of the skin stretched over his knuckles. With a tiny flick of his left wrist, his wand slid from its wrist sheath to land comfortably in his palm, pointing toward the floor.

Draco waited several heartbeats in silence, straining for any sound from within the house, but heard nothing. Releasing his grip on the frame, he cautiously reached and pressed one outstretched finger to the wooden door. His poke was met with resistance and he flattened his palm to the wood and pressed more firmly, wand rising a bit in his left hand. The door made a weak groan of protest before stuttering open, the bottom corner dragging against the entryway as it went. Draco paused again to listen but found nothing to greet him on his return home after innumerable time and distance.


	2. Strange Voices

Chapter One - Strange Voices

 

Draco Malfoy had been awake for hours before his mother knocked softly at his bedroom door, but had remained in bed, waiting for their morning ritual to start his day for the last time. Tomorrow morning he would wake in a different bed, but one his imagination knew well. He thought it would have a large canopy just as his bed at home did, but there the similarities would end. This imagined bed was covered with luxurious deep green bedding, all of it as soft and fluffy as he imagined sitting on a Giant Puffskein would be. The bed would be smaller, but needfully so, since the room it was in would house more than just Draco, another first for the only child that had never need contemplate sharing his personal space. Even when he had guests visit the Manor they were always given their own well-appointed suite of rooms, as was customary with the best pureblood families, even the children.

Before Draco could continue down the path his imagination was leading him he was interrupted by the soft, melodious tones of his mother’s voice. Narcissa Malfoy stood framed in the doorway, speaking gently to wake him, unaware that her son had been awake long before the one outside had risen.

“Good morning, Mother,” Draco replied, unconcerned that he had missed what she had been saying to wake him. He sat up fully and regarded her with a shine in his gray eyes that betrayed the reserve he showed on the surface. He knew she could see his excitement, if for no other reason than that it was reflected back at him in her own blue eyes, though he could also see something else in hers. Possibly a bit of… sadness? Maybe his mother was not wholly pleased to be sending her only child off to school at the tender age of 11, he mused. They both politely ignored the other’s emotional display and proceeded with the standard mornings ritual.

“Good morning to you, my dearest Draco. How did you sleep?” As she made this inquiry, Narcissa stepped into the room and toward him several steps, arranging her silvery robes around her subtly as she sat on the edge of Draco’s bed. Her feet remained carefully on the floor, her body turned toward Draco, with her hands resting lightly one atop the other in her lap. Perfectly poised. Draco suspected she was resisting the impulse to reach out and smooth back the tuft of blonde hair he only suspected was sticking out from the top of his head. He always had atrocious bedhead in the morning, a product of being a very active sleeper, but his mother had long ago deemed him able to maintain his own appearance. After all, tomorrow morning she would not be there to smooth back wayward hairs for him. He left the hair in place, enjoying the game they were playing silently while on the surface they started to speak.

“I slept well, Mother, thank you. I hope you did as well?”

“Most restfully,” Narcissa assured him. “Your father will be joining us for breakfast this morning,” she added in the same mild tone.

Draco silently congratulated himself when he responded without a pause. “Of course, Mother. He’ll be coming to King’s Cross as well?” Almost perfect. A better phrasing would have been _will_ _he_ be coming to King’s Cross, so as not to seem to be assuming the presence of the Head of the Malfoy family.

“Of course,” she echoed back at him, smiling in a perfectly pleasant way.

“We’ll leave right after breakfast?”

“Shortly after. The house elves have packed everything in your trunk?” She eyed the wand he had carefully placed on the bedside table every night before going to sleep since purchasing it the month before.

“Yes,” Draco said, feeling as though another _of course_ would be a bit too much. He ignored the wand and her glances toward it.

“The train leaves at 11 o’clock, we’ll leave at half ten and be in plenty of time.”

This she said despite the fact that they had discussed this procedure repeatedly in the days leading up to September 1st, each time with the patience of long practice having a son that needed to plan his socks for every outfit, a week in advance. She’d put her elegantly slippered foot down at labeling the sock drawer with days of the week.

Draco made a noncommittal noise, but chose magnanimously not to reopen the oft-tread battle of when to leave for the station. Personally he was still a bit miffed that she had rebuffed his request to arrive at King’s Cross no later than a quarter past nine to ensure the proper compartment on the train was procured.

“Draco, don’t grunt,” she chided.

“My apologies, Mother. I was distracted by a passing thought. Do you think the Parkinson’s will be able to find us in the crowd? Did we give them the exact spot we’d be Apparating to?” Draco’s spine tensed as he allowed himself to share his worries aloud.

“Darling,” Narcissa gave in then and reached to smooth down the nearly white strands of hair flat onto her son’s quivering head. There. At least he wouldn’t look so much like an agitated rooster now. She left the endearment hanging until the silky hair was once more in place. “Hawthorn* sent an owl to confirm their arrival just this morning and you discussed it with Pansy not even two days ago.”

Draco refused to blush at his mother’s gentle chiding, but did allow his posture to relax a fraction.

“Now please get up and I will see you shortly in the drawing room.” Narcissa rose to her feet and left Draco, still vaguely worried.

\---

Draco held his tongue with the strength of ten Giants until the door slid closed behind the swish of his school robes upon entering the compartment he and his friends had selected. It was one about halfway down the Hogwarts Express, to Draco’s satisfaction. They’d been unable to get one nearer the last half of the train (these were all taken by older students that could remove First Years without a single finger lifted in effort) but it was a respectable location, none the less. Not too close to the front, with the dual purpose of avoiding interfering Prefects and the exhaust from the engine, and not too far to the rear, where you risked being lost if part of the train uncoupled from the rest, or worse, that the cart bearing sweets would be empty by the time it reached your door. There was only so much an Undetectable Extension Charm could do in the face of Hogwarts students returning to their normal eating habits after a summer of being under the watchful eye of parents, and the cart frequently ran low on the best sweets. Or so Draco had heard. He wouldn’t be finding out personally thanks to his foresight in the compartment location planning arena. He smiled, somewhat smugly, as he settled back onto the cushioned seats.

“Not bad,” he commented, refraining from bouncing on the seat to test its springiness. Bouncing was decidedly Not Appropriate Pureblood Behaviour (NAPB for short, at least in his own mind) and he wouldn’t risk it, blinds on the windows or no.

Pansy Parkinson raised one well-groomed dark eyebrow at him after settling herself on the seat adjacent to his. Across the compartment sat Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. Both were large, with wide, dull faces and somewhat vacant expressions. Draco’s father had encouraged him, rather forcefully, to consider making Crabbe and Goyle his closest friends at Hogwarts, presuming naturally, that they would share a House. Draco himself was somewhat undecided on the matter and had thus far made only neutral overtures at the pair. He would need lackeys, after all he supposed, and eyed the two boys, both dressed in Hogwarts black robes. They were much larger than the average First Year from what Draco had seen, and Draco was, to his utter frustration, somewhat smaller than average. He wouldn’t make the decision lightly, however. Friendships at Hogwarts were very often the keys to future success and it wouldn’t do to allow first impressions to spoil his chances, and certainly not an impression based on size alone. He would make his parents proud and part of that was ensuring he made the right friends.

Draco was studying Pansy with a critical eye, considering her features and dress. She could do with some kind of Charm to help with the shortness of her nose, but her hair was quite glossy and she had dark eyes that watched his every move sharply. She, too, was wearing her school robes and they looked good with her somewhat light complexion. It was hard to call her pale when the contrast could be made to Draco directly, and his skin was certainly much paler than Pansy’s. She was already a friend, like it or not, and most days he did like it. Pansy was equal parts sarcasm and wit, with an unfortunate dash of shrillness he could handle on most days. They’d been friends as long as Draco could remember, she being the only child of another well-known pureblood family.

The train hadn’t been under way for very long before Draco began feeling the most peculiar sensation behind his right eye. There was a painful pressing feeling and he was unable to focus on the story Pansy was telling about her recent visit to Diagon Alley. Blinking rapidly, his alarm began to increase as the pressure rose.

“Draco, are you okay?” Pansy reached out to rest her hand on Draco’s where it was clenching the arm of his seat.

Draco was unable to answer while clenching his teeth from the mounting pressure. It felt, almost, like magic? He struggled to maintain his calm façade while trying to determine the source of the possible spell. Something intruding on his mind couldn’t be good and he was loathe to admit he wasn’t up to any kind of magical defensive maneuvers, never mind that he didn’t actually know any.

“Draco? Draco?!” Pansy had clearly been calling him for several moments and her shrillness level was increasing as quickly as the pressure in his head.

“Fine,” he managed, on a breath uncomfortably close to a gasp. “Please excuse me for,” just then he sprang into action, rising and heading out of the compartment. “Just a moment,” he threw over his shoulder on his exit. He was doing a bit better now, out of the confined space, and the hallway of the train was surprisingly empty. He assumed everyone was inside their own compartments, catching up with friends and housemates. He made his way down the corridor and to the toilet without running into a single person. He hastily shut himself inside and assessed his condition. The pressure had dimmed in intensity, but was still there. Looking into the mirror, Draco could see nothing amiss. He was a bit pale and peaked looking, but not abnormally so. His black school robes made his skin look paler than it was and his severely swept back hair emphasized the widow’s peak he’d inherited from his Malfoy blood.

_Hmm. Well, I suppose this will have to do._

Draco jumped and whirled around, reflexively dropping his wand from where it rested against his forearm in its holster and into his hand, a gesture he had thankfully practiced regularly. He completed his turn, ending up facing the mirror again, but he was alone. Was there someone invisible lurking in the toilet? Draco’s eyes widened in alarm at the thought.

_I’m going to forgive myself for that thought._

The voice was a lazy drawl, with the familiar tones and emphasis Draco himself spoke with.

_That’s a shocker._

The voice was also responding to him, Draco noted. He was afraid to consider that he hadn’t been speaking aloud. His pulse raced as his fear increased.

_I will NEVER forgive myself if you faint right now._

This time the voice sounded threatening and despite the nonsense it was spewing, the continued commentary gave Draco something to focus on. Was the voice related to the pain in his head. Was the voice IN his head?

_Now you’ve come to it!_

The words were spoken too dryly to be considered a real compliment, but Draco would take what he could. Draco thought carefully of his question. _Who are you?_

 _Well, I suppose we can’t expect instant recognition, you have no reason to know me, really._ The voice sounded slightly perturbed that Draco didn’t know who it, he, whoever, was. _For now let’s just say I’m a friend, with your best interests at heart, shall we?_

 _We shall **not.**_ Draco tried to sound firm, which was difficult while speaking without an actual voice. Unfortunately the voice that responded seemed to have no trouble at all making his feelings known.

 _Just who do you think is in charge here?_ The voice was haughty now and sharp with reproach. _I am your elder and your better and you will listen because I have some very important advice for you. Now--_

Draco was understandably uncomfortable with an unknown voice lecturing him in his own head, but wasn’t sure how to proceed. He hadn’t invited the voice and certainly didn’t know how to get rid of it.

 _That’s right._ The voice was all smugness. _If you don’t listen to me, I’ll just keep chattering away in your head whenever I like. You’ll go mad within days, hours maybe._

Draco tried to contain his alarm. He was certain the voice was right, he wouldn’t last long if it started trying to cause trouble. Just look at what had happened with Pansy when the pressure had started. As if thinking of her conjured her to his side, a hard rap sounded outside the door.

“Draco,” hissed Pansy from the other side. “Are you in there?”

Draco knew she wouldn’t leave without a good explanation and he didn’t have one.

_Tell her you’re fine and will be back in two minutes._

Draco found himself repeating the words the voice had given him before he could think better of it. “Just fine, Pans,” he tried to sound soothing but it came out more monotone. “I’ll be back in two minutes.”

“You’re sure?” Pansy’s voice was suspicious but relieved, and Draco knew the voice had been right. It seemed a simple thing, but Draco was sure he would have only raised her suspicions speaking alone.

“Yes, completely. Only a moment behind you.”

The voice remained quiet while he was talking to Pansy but started up again as soon as Draco, with his ear pressed to the door in an undignified manner (Not Appropriate Pureblood Behaviour for sure), heard her step away. _See? You should always listen to me._

Draco snorted (NAPB, as well) and replied. _Who ARE you?_ He supposed it was a good thing the voice could hear his thoughts as the last thing he needed was for someone to find him talking to himself. He’d be branded a nutter and an outcast before he could say Madame Puddifoot’s Peculiar Passionmint Tea (a delightful combination of passionfruit and peppermint that was one of Draco’s favourites).

_Really? You’re more worried about someone thinking you’re insane than if you actually are insane while chatting with a voice inside your head? Never mind that and definitely never mind tea – you need to listen to me closely and follow my instructions to the letter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, this is a blatant tribute to the Sacrifices Arc (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2580283/1/Saving-Connor) by Lightening on the Wave (https://www.fanfiction.net/u/895946/Lightning-on-the-Wave), because they created an amazing Hawthorn Parkinson that I am fucking majorly in awe of. I didn’t ask them before using it, so hopefully they don’t mind. Ahem. Anyway…


	3. First Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments! I write every day but am also working on another longer project, so my attention is divided between the two. Hopefully this still means regular updates but I'm not ready to put a schedule on it yet. I'll let you know if I come up with one!

Chapter Two - First Meetings

 

Draco’s head spun with everything he had just learned. There was still the possibility that this was all some strange dream or hallucination brought on by the stress of travelling away from home alone for the first time, or that he had inherited the Black family propensity for madness. His mother had warned him of her family’s history of peculiarities (her preferred term) but assured him that they’d have long since seen signs of the madness in Draco if he was afflicted. He hoped he wasn’t just a late bloomer.

The voice had gone silent after giving Draco a frustratingly limited tale of why it had suddenly appeared in his head. Why _he_ had suddenly appeared, if the voice was to be believed. Draco pushed errant thoughts away and ran a hand along his brow and back across his hair to ensure any wayward strands were settled smooth. He rapped on the compartment door and ignored the quaking sensation he felt as he slid open the entrance. He smiled and glanced around the space, taking in two boys, one on either side of the center aisle with what seemed to be half of Honeyduke’s spread out around them. The ginger boy looked sharply at him but Draco knew his own face was serenely blank. He noted a smudge of dirt on the gangly boy’s freckled face but held back his urge to comment on it. Instead he turned to the other occupant and his smile no longer felt forced.

Harry Potter was scrawny. His skin was the unnatural pale of someone who would tan well but hadn’t gotten enough sun; and his bright green eyes, which were by far his best feature, were obscured behind awful round glasses that had the look of having been inexpertly repaired many times. His hair made Draco rethink his own struggles with bedhead, but even considering all of that, Draco was intrigued. The eyes were bright with interest and humor, and the two boys seemed companionable despite surely having only met on the train. Draco didn’t like the feeling that he was intruding and set about correcting it.

“Hello,” he held out his hand to Potter. “I’m Draco Malfoy.”

Potter grinned up at Draco from his seat and, miraculously, reached out to shake. Draco heard a snort from the red haired Weasley (he would have known the boy was a Weasley without the warning the voice had given) and instead of responding, he closed the distance between his and Potter’s hand. He was sure the electric zing he felt on contact was nothing more than some particle of a miscast spell lingering in the air but even so, Draco couldn’t contain the answering grin he gave to Potter.

“I’m Harry Potter.” The reply was so obviously genuine despite Draco being confident that every single student on the train would not have needed the introduction that Draco couldn’t help feeling happy. He reluctantly released Harry’s hand and forced himself to turn to the Weasley.

“Hello,” he repeated, feeling stupidly formal. “I’m Draco Malfoy.”

The Weasley boy looked torn. Glancing between Draco and Harry, he cautiously extended his hand. “Ronald Weasley.”

Draco shook firmly and released as quickly as courtesy allowed. “So,” he began, trying for a hearty tone. “Potter, Weasley, any idea what House you’ll be sorted to?” He preferred to have more time to plan conversations with strangers in advance, but the voice had strenuously warned to keep to neutral topics and above all to avoid insulting anyone, no matter how tempting. Draco hadn’t really understood the warning until he saw Weasley’s face twist with irritation.

“What’s it to you, Malfoy? S’not like we don’t know where you’ll end up. My Dad says Malfoys always go Slytherin.” Weasley spat the name of the House like it was the foulest insult and Draco could feel the heat rise in his cheeks as he fought to stay calm. He clenched both fists and held them still to ensure he didn’t go for his wand. Before he could formulate a reply that _didn’t_ mention the Weasley family’s lineage or the deplorable state of their home, Potter broke in.

“What’s the matter with you, Ron?” Harry looked astonished at his new friend’s venom and Draco felt warm all over at Harry’s defense.

“Don’t worry, Potter – some people have trouble seeing past House rivalries.” Draco paused a moment before comically twisting his face. “He’s right in one, though. I do hope to be put in Slytherin, but no one really knows until the Sorting. I hope you’ll still be my friend even if we’re in separate Houses?”

Potter was mollified by this and with another quick glance from Weasley to Draco; he seemed to come to a decision. “Sure. I want friends from every House.”

With that, Draco decided his mission was done for the moment. “Great. I’ll see you around, then.” He didn’t spare a glance for Weasley on his exit.

\---

Draco’s self-satisfied feeling last well into the evening, even despite Potter being sorted into Gryffindor, of all places. The twinge of disgust that brought on was quickly squashed when Draco remembered that Harry had defended him against Weasley on the Hogwarts Express. The welcoming feast was a lavish affair, but Draco found himself with little appetite, even when dessert appeared and he spotted Chelsea buns, his favorite, piled on a tray nearby. He sat with Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle as well as the other First Years at the end of the long Slytherin table. Draco had tried to sit where he would be able to see Potter at the Gryffindor table but had lost him in the sea of students.

Draco was unexpectedly tired for a day spent mostly on a train and found himself yawning widely as the tight group of Slytherin First Years was herded down staircases and through two different bits of wall that disguised doorways to other parts of the castle. Hogwarts was even larger than Draco had imagined and more confusing – it was a pity he was too tired to try to remember the route they took to the Slytherin House entrance in the dungeons of the castle.

_I’ll show you where to go tomorrow._

Draco jumped as the voice spoke for the first time since their conversation on the Hogwarts Express and looked around to see if anyone had noticed his startlement. Pansy was giving him a strange look but Crabbe and Goyle were oblivious, both with sticky hands and faces from finishing their last round of dessert on the trip to the common room. He directed his thought at the voice. _I thought you’d gone._

_Of course not, where would I go?_

Draco frowned; he didn’t like the sound of that. _Aren’t you going to… leave? Now? I thought you just wanted me to make friends with Potter and not fight. Wasn’t that what you said?_

There was a long pause in which Draco entered the Slytherin common room, which was located behind a section of wall in the dungeons. The room was dim, lit only by sconces on the wall and a very low green illumination that came from windows like portholes in the walls. In his sleepy state Draco couldn’t take in much of the rooms’ décor, but got the impression that it was filled with dark, high-backed furniture, and he spotted a banked fire glowing dimly in an ornate fireplace against one wall. The Prefect leading them, a tall and gangly Fifth Year Slytherin with coal black hair and dark eyes, herded the newest Slytherin boys to a door down winding a stone corridor. The room was one of many along the hall and Draco wasn’t sure how he would tell it from the others in the future.

 _Slytherin designed it that way,_ the voice commented conversationally. _That way an intruder couldn’t target the youngest wizards or the oldest and most powerful. All of the rooms look the same when you open the doors as well. Ahh, see?_ Draco was awed by his first impression of his new dormitory; the beds were large and made of dark wood with richly tapestried drapes in the darkest shade of silver imaginable. The beds themselves were large enough that Draco could have his own space within the curtains and not even feel that he was stuck in bed. Each of the five beds had an area next to it with a wardrobe, bedside table, and an open area covered the stone of the floor with a lavish rug. Next to the wardrobe in the farthest corner of the room were stacked Draco’s trunks. As Draco investigated his new home, his exhaustion and the strange voice were forgotten for a moment. He found his robes and personal items already placed in the wardrobe and the sheets of the large bed turned down invitingly. Before he could consider pajamas, Draco was crawling up into the bed, pulling the lovely soft blankets over him, and swishing the drapes closed. He was asleep instantly.


	4. What is Past is Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos and comments! The chapter title is a Shakespeare quote, I couldn't help it. :)

Chapter Three – What is Past is Prologue

 

 

Draco woke slowly the next morning, comfortably burrowed into warm blankets. He gradually realized that he had woken due to whispering voices nearby. For a moment he thought his mother must be talking to a house elf, then all at once he remembered where he was. He bounded from bed, thrusting the drapes back on either side of him and rounded the bed to face the room. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were talking quietly from their space near the entrance to the dormitory. Zabini noticed Draco and turned to face him as he knotted his green and silver tie.

“Well, well,” he said in a drawling accent. “Look what the Crup drug in.”

Draco ran a hand across his head and felt the tufts of hair sticking up. He feigned nonchalance and raised one eyebrow. “Getting an early start?”

Nott pipped up. “It’s past eight, you’ll miss breakfast if you don’t get a move on.” Classes started at nine and it was true that Draco did not want to miss breakfast. He didn’t want to appear to be startled at the time either.

“Thank you for your concern, Nott, but I was at the welcoming feast last night and I do recall when classes are set to begin.” With that Draco sauntered back toward his wardrobe, considering the best way to speed through his getting ready. He breathed a sigh of relief when he opened the doors upon seeing his uniforms and robes neatly hung in rows. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about appearing wrinkled his first day. Hogwarts must have an amazing amount of house elves to run this efficiently.

While he was dressing he heard Crabbe and Goyle stumbling about, clearly roused by the concern of missing breakfast, and finished his preparations for the day as they dressed. Neither of them looked particularly alert this morning, but Draco wasn’t sure if it was from sleepiness or simply how their faces looked. They were, at least, not dwaddlers in the morning and were ready to troop down to breakfast at the same time as Draco.

They fell in a step behind him as he made for the common room and Draco had a moment of panic that he couldn’t remember the way to the Great Hall. He considered insisting that Crabbe and Goyle go in front but as he was much shorter than they, this would make it impossible for him to see anything in front of him. Also he quite liked their looming presence at his back. They exited the common room into a corridor that was obviously part of the dungeons, and at least Draco knew they had to go up from here.

_Left down this corridor to the stairs_

Draco managed not to visibly startle at the appearance of the voice this time and smoothly turned left out of the common room. _I knew that_ , he responded irritably.

_No you didn’t._

Draco was miffed but unable to contradict the voice, as he didn’t want it to stop telling him where to go, after all.

 _There’s a shortcut to the Great Hall but I’d rather the lumps following you don’t know about it quite yet._ The voice spoke conversationally, as if it were obvious that he’d show Draco hidden shortcuts around Hogwarts.

 _As grateful as I am,_ Draco began thinking. _Don’t you think it would be better if you.. well, went?_

The voice was dry when it replied. _Don’t you think I would if I could? It’s not exactly a treat for me, bobbing around in your head like this._

 _But surely you can reverse it, you’re the one that made it happen!_ Draco was beginning to be very worried at the idea of a constant other presence in his head.

 _Not as such._ The voice didn’t seem willing to continue the conversation despite Draco thinking urgent questions at it. It did continue giving him directions to the Great Hall, however, and Draco was relieved to find breakfast still spread out on the long tables. He focused on serving himself a plate for a moment, and then scanned the hall. Pansy was not there, nor were Zabini and Nott. Two of the other First Year girls were a bit down the table from him, and older students were stumbling in and out clutching mugs of tea or coffee. He ate rather quicker than he would have liked and reminded himself to wake earlier the next day. He was normally an early riser, but clearly the excitement of travel had exhausted him.

Classes were both surprising and not for Draco, who had been prepared for entering Hogwarts by private tutors, and he found that to his disappointment, everyone really did start at the same place and would only distinguish themselves by the work they were accomplishing. Draco did not have any classes that day with Harry Potter, but the following day was double Potions with the Gryffindors in the morning for him to look forward to.

The Slytherin first years were paired with Ravenclaw for Herbology that day and Draco was not terribly surprised when the voice popped up with comments about the other new students as Draco got his first good look at them. There were ten Ravenclaws and the voice appeared unimpressed with the lot of them, if the muttering was any indication. Most of what the voice said was idle commentary on their personalities or their lineage, and Draco started to tune the voice out to focus on the lesson.

Lunch followed the same pattern as breakfast, and more classes followed that. Draco was surprised to find that he didn’t have a significant advantage in any of his classes that day and committed to dedicating himself to his books that evening. Classes finished with time before dinner and Draco decided to venture outside before darkness fell. He instructed Crabbe and Goyle to stay behind and assured them he would be back in time for dinner. Draco was used to inhabiting the Manor at home with only his mother and various house elves for company and the constant press of other students and professors was beginning to take its toll. He strode calmly toward the front doors of the castle, careful to ensure his appearance was that of someone on their way for a stroll, and not someone running to escape.

Once outside he took several deep breaths and pointed himself toward the Quidditch pitch. Draco liked Quidditch, and was quite good at it, even if he did say so himself. He thought it would be a pity if he wasn’t picked for his House team and had only recently accepted that he probably wouldn’t have the chance to fly much until his second year, when he was allowed to bring his own broom to Hogwarts. He sighed deeply and continued to wander the base of the pitch, getting familiar with the layout of the field and the stands that surrounded it. He could see himself winning the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin here and let himself daydream about it for a moment.

Interrupting imaginary Draco accepting the Quidditch cup from Dumbledore, the voice returned. _Really, team Captain as a third year? Not ambitious, you._

 _Oh, stuff it._ Draco thought, a flush coming to his cheeks as he remembered he wasn’t as alone as he had previously thought.

 _Tsk, tsk._ The voice sounded amused as it scolded him halfheartedly. _Is that any way to talk to your elders?_

 _About that…_ Draco thought. _You haven’t told me yet why you’re still here. Or who you are. I think I deserve some answers since it’s **my mind** you’ve taken up residence in. _

The voice seemed to be considering Draco’s demands and he waited impatiently for the response.

 _It’s a bit of a long story._ The voice said this blandly, as if he was offering to spare Draco a tedious lecture.

_I think I have time. Besides, its already been a whole day since you showed up!_

The voice sighed at this, a long drawn out exhalation, as if Draco could not possibly understand the difficulty it was to explain this. Draco waited, tapping one foot on the grass of the pitch where he stood.

 _Well, what do you want to know?_ Said the voice at last, sounding resigned.

_First off, who in Merlin’s name are you?_

_Couldn’t have started with something a little easier, could you?_ The question seemed rhetorical, so Draco didn’t bother to reply. _And haven’t you sorted that bit out for yourself yet? I thought I’d been rather blatant about that, at least._ Draco lifted his chin despite being alone and sniffed. He wouldn’t be insulted by some formless noise in his head. _Fine, fine._ Another pause before the voice continued. _I guess that’s as good a place to start as any. I’m Draco Malfoy._

Draco paused, certain he hadn’t understood. The voice seemed content to let him digest this information without further input. _You’re…? But **I’m** Draco Malfoy. Are you saying we have the same name? _

_No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I’m you._

_You’re me?_ Draco echoed, feeling that maybe the voice was right to seem skeptical of his intelligence now.

 _More or less._ Continued the voice. _I’m a version of you. I’m the Draco Malfoy of your future._

Draco blinked several times, letting this thought settle. _You’re future me. And you’ve travelled back in time in my head?_ Stating it like that made Draco feel even more stupid.

_It’s a tiny bit more complicated than that, but ultimately, yes. Time travel is difficult and time travel over many years is, well…_

_It’s supposed to be impossible._ Draco interjected. _That’s what I’ve read. That you can’t travel back very far in time. It just doesn’t work. The Department of Mysteries has been working on it for years, but only Time Turners work, and they’re limited to 24 hours into the past._

 _Well, that’s what_ they _think._ Draco considered what Draco had said. This was getting confusing. Future Draco sounded smug, Current Draco thought.

 _So you, or rather I,_ Draco shook his head and let the thought go. _I can’t do it. I can’t think of you as me, if I even **believe** that. Can I call you something else?_

_Hmm… I suppose you can call me Drake. Its not my favorite ,sobriquet but you’re right that it will get confusing quickly otherwise._

_Okay. So you, Drake, are future me. And you, Drake, figured out how to travel back further than the Department of Mysteries could?_ Draco was disbelieving, even considering that he knew his own intellect was vast, he couldn’t imagine figuring out something that complicated.

_Well, the Department of Mysteries no longer exists, but yes. I devised a way to extend the length of time travel. Clearly, not perfectly, as I’m in your head rather than in an actual body, but still, it is quite the magical breakthrough, yes._

Draco tried to process the information he’d just been given. He couldn’t think of which question to ask next. _The Department of Mysteries is gone? How did that happen?_

Drake sighed heavily. _That’s really not relevant to the current situation. Some stupid teenagers broke in and smashed everything up. The Ministry had to close it down for repairs._

 _Teenagers?_ Draco asked.

_Nevermind that. Let’s continue. So yes, I am from the future, and I am you. That’s why I’m in **your** head. I could only travel back along my own timeline and apparently the spell wasn’t strong enough to bring my body along, just my consciousness. So here I am. _

_Fine, so here you are. Now, why are you still here? On the train you said you just needed me to meet Harry Potter then you’d be off. You said it was a matter of life and death that we become friends._

_I did say those things, yes._ Drake sounded cautious now, as if he was getting ready to give Draco some bad news. _I might have… overestimated my abilities._

 _Overestimated your abilities. What does that mean?_ Draco had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

 _Well. That. I, err, I appear to be stuck._ If Draco hadn’t been convinced that the voice belonged to a future version of him, the tone it was using right now would have convinced him. Draco knew that sheepishness well. He’d approached more than one situation with confidence in his abilities only to end up on the sheepish side of the conversation. He sighed.

_Future me is stuck in my head. Fabulous. For how long?_

Drake was silent for several beats. _That is yet to be determined._

 


	5. Machinations of a Slytherin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Erm, slight edit… I wrote that Draco was looking forward to Potions the following afternoon when of course I meant to write morning, not terribly important, but it changes the timeline of this chapter a bit. I fixed it in the previous chapter.

Chapter Four – Machinations of a Slytherin

 

The following morning Draco’s head was blessedly silent. The voice, or Drake, as he was trying to think of him, had decided to withdraw into Draco’s mind to attempt to find a way to his original time. This meant, Draco supposed, less running commentary on his day. He was pleased that he would be alone with his thoughts and also grateful to find that he remembered his way around the castle quite well on his own. He had always been good at things like that. Malfoys had excellent sense of direction.

Draco had been looking forward to that morning’s Potions lesson from the moment he had seen it on his timetable, as it was the only class the Slytherins shared with the Gryffindors. He was also looking forward to seeing his godfather, Professor Snape. Draco arrived at the dungeon classroom early, with a plan of action set in his mind. He had seen Potter between classes and at meals with his constant redhaired Weasley companion, but Draco had a plan to separate the dream team and claim a shared table with Potter during the lesson. His plan started with his early arrival and a friendly chat with his godfather.

Professor Snape was at the front of the room when Draco arrived, sorting through rolls of parchment. They looked like summer essays from returning students and if the professor’s expression was any indication, they were not the work of future Potions Masters. Draco approached Snape warily, more familiar than most with his godfather’s prickly temperament. Just because Draco was a favorite of Snape’s did not automatically qualify him for a welcome greeting. He situated himself at an angle to the professor so that he could keep an eye on the entrance and speak to Snape as well.

“Good morning, sir.” Draco thought this was a generic enough greeting, even considering the irritated countenance.

“If it was a good morning, Draco, I would not be forced to read such appalling lack of sense as the kind my OWL students have prepared for me.” Professor Snape’s tone oozed contempt as well as deadly consideration; he toned suggested he was considering employing a particularly deadly potion on the offending students, or possibly anyone that bothered him in the next 20 minutes. Draco had been the recipient of that particular threat more times than he could remember.

Draco wasn’t sure how to respond to this, being himself somewhat alarmed at the deadly tone. He chanced a glance at the Professor and shuddered at the coal black eyes and hooked nosed face, which was just now wrinkled in disgust.

“And now our newest golden boy, arriving with his hoard of admirers.” Draco flinched guiltily as he glanced to the door and realized Snape was referring to Potter. Possibly his godfather would not approve of Draco’s plan. He considered this for a moment; getting on Snape’s bad side was not something Draco relished, but there were more important factors as well. Such factors as besting that freckled git and convincing Potter to become his very best friend. Maybe he wouldn’t use that exact phrasing, however.

Draco’s moment of action had arrived and he excused himself from Professor Snape and sauntered with a practiced casual demeanor. _Thank you, deportment classes_ , Draco mused _._

“Potter! Hello again,” Draco contained his wince at the hearty tone he had adopted to hail Potter, but it was effective. Harry stopped his conversation with the Weasley mid-sentence and whirled to greet Draco.

“Malfoy! Good to see you!” Potter followed this with an awkward shuffle forward, blocked partly by Weasley who seemed to be attempting to keep Harry from approaching Draco. After a short scuffle and a frown from Potter to Weasley, Draco was face to face with Potter for the first time since the train. Draco took the opportunity to subtly face the conversation away from the sputtering Weasley and corner Potter by a table near the front.

“You as well. How have you been enjoying Hogwarts so far? I imagine its all a bit of an adjustment.” Draco had written out several such conversation openers and was pleased that Potter grasped his first attempt and chattered away. Draco kept half his focus on Potter’s words and the other on the classroom around him. It wouldn’t do to have someone come and whisk Potter away at the last second. Weasley was whispering intently to a girl with a large amount of curly brown hair and prominent front teeth, who was looking at Draco in sideways glances while nodding along with the Weasley. Crabbe and Goyle had arrived but seemed oblivious to their surroundings and sat together toward the back, matching blank expressions on their faces. Pansy was chatting with one of the other Slytherin girls, Draco hadn’t bothered to learn her name yet. He focused back on Potter just as the other boy seemed to run out of air.

“…so basically its been unbelievable. And I’m going down to see Hagrid this afternoon for tea, to tell him all about it as well.” Potter finished with a grin that Draco automatically returned as he tried to steady his thoughts.

“Well, its such a fascinating perspective to hear from someone that didn’t grow up in the magical world.” Draco was startled to find that he meant was he was saying. He knew he was supposed to sneer at Potter for his unabashed excitement at everything magical, and look down on him for living with Muggles, but Draco couldn’t help but find Potter’s enthusiasm contagious. Luck was on Draco’s side, however, and Snape chose that moment to stand at the front of the room and begin glaring at students still standing and talking, which prevented Draco from saying anything else. Quickly Draco gestured for Potter to sit and joined him at the worktable. Draco glanced behind him to find a miserable looking Weasley sitting with the bushy haired girl, and had to work to contain his smirk. Pansy caught his eye as he turned back and gave him a look that clearly questioned his sanity. He adopted an innocent expression and batted his eyes at her. She scowled at him before turning her attention to Snape.

Draco was startled to note that Snape’s eyes were glaring directly into his when he glanced at the professor and he tried to hold his innocent expression (though somewhat less exaggerated now) under Snape’s inspection. The professor glanced between Draco and his seat mate several times before his lip curled and he turned away.

Draco tried to focus on the roll call and Snape’s introductions to Potions, but his mind wandered. He did note that the girl sitting with Weasley was called Granger, and appeared to be a know-it-all of Arthurian proportions. He **did** have the presence of mind to whisper an answer to Snape’s question to Potter about asphodel without incurring Snape’s notice, which took some of the professor’s glaring focus off the other boy. Harry was exceptionally grateful, shooting Draco thankful looks throughout Snape’s lecture and insisting on partnering with Draco to work on the potion Snape set them, to Draco’s delight.

“Listen,” Potter said as they both leaned over their cauldron to check on the horned slugs they had stewing, “do you want to come with me and Ron down to Hagrid’s for tea? We’re going at 3 this afternoon.”

Draco considered the invitation for only a moment before agreeing gratefully. His head felt a bit mixed up as he considered what he knew of Hagrid from overhearing his father, but decided to push the thoughts away. After all, he himself had travelled through time to make sure he was friends with Harry Potter, Draco couldn’t very well snub Potter’s other friends, with the possible exception of Weasley. “That sounds great, shall I meet you in the entrance hall at a quarter to?”

Potter agreed, and they proceeded with their potion with little trouble. Snape swept over several times, sniffing at their cauldron but appeared unable to bring himself to comment. Draco maintained his aura of obliviousness but knew Snape would not hesitate to give his opinion to Draco privately. That was a battle Draco would have to begin to prepare for, not just with Snape but with his own parents. He sighed inwardly but focused his attention back on Potter, just in time to see the look of horror cross his face as Potter leap upward onto a chair, dragging Draco along with him. Draco looked around wildly for the origin of attack, but had to cling to Potter for balance. They were standing together on one chair, flailing a bit, as Draco found the source of the problem. A Gryffindor boy with round cheeks and a mortified expression had melted his partner’s cauldron and was now standing in a quickly moving puddle of potion. The boy was covered in boils and the students nearest him were also sporting some painful looking spots. Draco stifled his grin and fought to remain balanced on the chair. He looked at Potter and let the tiniest smirk escape.

“Thanks,” Draco said.

“Payback for that answer about the Draught of the Living Dead,” Potters eyes sparkled green behind his ugly glasses.

Draco chuckled. “Draught of Living Death, Potter.”

“Oh.” Potter scrunched his face in thought. “I like my version better. Sounds like zombies.”

\---

Draco and Harry continued their conversation about zombies, which Draco learned were similar to what wizards called Inferi, as they cleaned up their potion mess and headed toward the entrance hall. Weasley trailed along after them but didn’t have anything to add to the conversation. Potter was talking animatedly about a zombie “film” he had seen and Draco didn’t even bother to tell Potter that he had no clue what a film was. The story was interesting either way, and Potter frequently made large gestures to explain something and this was hilarious to watch.

The boys had just agreed to head out to Hagrid’s, as they had chatted away the time after class ended, when Pansy appeared in the entrance hall, her shrillness factor quite high.

“Draco, for all the gold in Gringott’s, where have you been?” She struck a pose of frustration in front of them, not bothering to acknowledge Potter or Weasley at all. She had her hands on her hips and her mouth pursed. Draco knew he had to head her off immediately, before she built up any additional volume.

“Pansy! How lovely!” Draco knew he sounded particularly formal after having relaxed his demeanor so much in Potter’s company, but he continued on. “I would like to introduce you to my newest friend, Harry Potter. Potter, this is my oldest and dearest,” at the word “dearest” Draco moved to encircle Pansy with his arm and squeezed her in warning, “friend, Pansy Parkinson. I’m sure you’re delighted to meet Potter at last, hmm, Pans?” Draco followed this with another squeeze and a pointed look at Pansy.

The look Pansy gave Draco could have melted another cauldron but her pureblood manners won out in the end. “Oh yes, Draco. Hello, Potter, such a pleasure.” Pansy spoke sweetly but didn’t reach her hand out to Potter, instead preferring to clutch at Draco’s arm around her waist. “Draco, I am so sorry to interrupt you but I really must have your help with something this afternoon. Potter, would you please excuse Draco?”

Draco noted the look of pleasure that crossed the Weasley’s face at realizing Draco would not be joining the adventure to Hagrid’s and he burned inside at Pansy for interrupting. Harry was cheerful about the interruption and immediately waved Draco off. “Of course, Malfoy, you go with Parkinson. It was nice to meet you,” that he directed at Pansy then turned back to Draco. “We should get together this weekend to work on our potions, eh?”

Draco nodded eagerly at the opportunity to see Potter that weekend and sent Weasley a smirk. “Have fun at tea, boys, don’t fill up on cakes before dinner.” Draco knew his mocking drawl was back but Potter took it in fun and laughed as he exited with Weasley. Draco whirled on Pansy and was met with a look as furious as his own.

“What in the name of the druids do you think you’re doing, Draco Lucius Malfoy?!” The shrillness of Pansy’s voice had reached a new decibel and Draco winced and cowered back from her while covering his ears. She huffed at his response but did lower her voice to a whisper that was more hoarse than shrill (Draco expected the shrieking took a toll on her throat). “What **will** people say when they find you associating with Potter and a Weasley? Have you lost your senses?”

Draco straightened when the shrieking diminished and called on his best pureblood arrogance. “What will people say, Pansy? Really? I should think **people** would have the good manners to mind their own business.” He shot a look that said clearly what people he was speaking of and dusted an invisible speck of lint from his sleeve.

“Oh, is that so? You really think your father will be pleased to ignore his son befriending Harry Potter?”

“I should think my father would understand the benefits of friends in all realms of life,” Draco replied, dryly.

“You’re not addressing the issue at hand, Draco. You must –“

“What issue?” Draco interrupted with more vehemence than he intended but quickly controlled his tone. He glanced around the entrance hall and was relieved that they were alone. “I must what, Pansy? I must not be friends with the hero of the wizarding world? What would you recommending I do instead? Mock him and jeer at him? I’m certain that would make an impression on students and professors that worship him.”

Draco had thought of what a friendship with Potter would suggest already, and Pansy wasn’t prepared for a well-reasoned response. He watched her anger deflate in front of him and raised a single eyebrow in response. He might not be telling Pansy the real reasons for his friendship with Potter, but the lie was a truth of a kind as well, and one more suited to the machinations of a Slytherin mind. After a moment of consideration in which Draco worried Pansy would call his bluff, she eventually curved her lips into a smile.

“Really, Draco?” Draco wasn’t well pleased by the astonishment in her tone, and even less so by her next words. “I didn’t think you had something so underhanded in you…” she mused.

_Wait and see exactly how underhanded I’ll be if necessary, Pansy…_ Draco realized he was talking to himself without the convenient excuse of a mental visitor and shook his head to clear it. He smirked his favorite smirk (practiced regularly in the mirror for optimum effect) and strolled out of the entrance hall toward the dungeons. “Now that we’ve cleared that up and you’ve ruined my plans for the afternoon, you’ll have to find something else to entertain me,” he drawled over his shoulder as Pansy stalked along behind him. He closed his eyes briefly, grateful that Pansy could not see his face, and tried to wipe out his doubts. It was becoming clear to him in a way it hadn’t before that being friends with Harry Potter was not going to be as simple as just a handshake on a train.


	6. Deux Es Machinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Faithful Readers! Thanks again for all the lovely comments and kudos! It really makes me want to keep writing. 
> 
> Just wanted to say that this chapter is a bit short, but it's setting up for the first real bit of action, so please stay tuned!

Chapter Five – Deux Es Machinations

 

Draco Malfoy was tired. The conversation with Pansy in the entrance hall, while suitable to dissuade her less complex mind, also served to unearth a problem that Draco had been avoiding. What **would** his father think when he heard that his son had befriended Harry Potter? As if that wasn’t enough, what about being seen with the company that Potter keeps; half-bloods, muggleborns, oafs like that Hagrid? Lucius Malfoy was a man that valued the purity of blood above almost everything else.

Draco was spending part of his free Sunday afternoon shut up in his room, considering the problem. He was lying quite tidily on top of his bed, which had already been made while Draco was eating breakfast in the Great Hall. His arms were folded behind his head and he stared up at the canopy of silver drapes, occasionally reaching up to push a stray bit of hair out of his face. Draco had dismissed Crabbe and Goyle while they were still busy eating third helpings of breakfast and avoided Pansy by slipping away while her head was turned away from him. Draco needed time alone to **think.** Drake had yet to return to provide any insight on the difficulty, but Draco was confident in his own exceptional powers of problem solving. He just needed something to convince his father that Harry Potter was a worthwhile friend…

Draco paused in his thoughts, a tiny seedling of an idea had occurred to him. Lucius Malfoy valued blood purity above _almost_ everything… so all Draco had to do was make Harry seem of even greater value. It wasn’t a simple task but Draco was almost certain he had an idea that could prove fruitful. He just needed the right opportunity to present itself. In the meantime, he could begin drawing up plans for whatever opportunity arose.

Satisfied with the conclusions he had reached, Draco gave himself the afternoon off from plotting. He would begin formulating concrete plans, along with graphs and charts of probable outcomes, potential obstacles, spells and potions that might increase his chances of success, tomorrow. Draco shivered in delight. He loved planning.

\---

Part one of the plan solidified two days later after a very concerning conversation with Drake, who had returned late Tuesday evening and immediately insisted that Draco excuse himself from the rather pleasant game of Exploding Snap he was playing with Zabini. Due to this, Draco was feeling a bit terse with the voice of his older self, who was insisting he make excuses and retire immediately upon his return.

Once Draco was alone with himself (he snorted as he thought this, then frowned. Snorting was NAPB and Draco needed to be more circumspect), he threw up his arms in exasperation and directed his thoughts at Drake. _While it is truly lovely that you have returned,_ Draco was getting better at tone while speaking in his mind and was certain his mental voice was dripping with his intended sarcasm, _I must say that you could do to work on your patience a bit. Did you not see that I was occupied?_

The voice replied sounding just as urgent and irritated as when it had first appeared to Draco on the Hogwarts Express. _Now is not the time for you to be worried about a bloody game of Exploding Snap!_

Draco was startled. Drake sounded..panicked. A cloud of dread seemed to accumulate around Draco as he stood in the center of his dormitory, his irritation at the interruption forgotten. _What should I be concerned about then?_ He asked this with hesitation as the voice appeared to be waiting for his response before sharing the news.

_Lots of things, really. You should be concerned about global warming – that’s not just a Muggle problem. And you should definitely be concerned about the state of your brushed velvet trousers, I’ve SEEN what you did to those while I was gone! Mud, really? Also you could certainly take some notice of –_

Draco wasn’t sure if it was possible to interrupt yourself, but he was willing to give it a try. _Will you please attempt to stay on point here? I was busy and would like to know what is so all fired important that you couldn’t wait for a simple game to conclude but now you can talk about my trousers like that’s critical information!_

_Well fine._ Drake sounded pouty and Draco tried to contain his thoughts about that development. _It really is quite dire news. I was just being difficult and now I’ll stop._

_Very well._ Draco enjoyed the older wizard’s apologizing to him and relaxed his frustrated posture. He strode over to his bed and closed the curtains around him. This way if anyone walked by the open dormitory door, they wouldn’t question why he was flailing about and making faces of frustration with no one around. He had never before realized how irritating certain types of people could be.

_Remember when you think that, you’re thinking all those things about yourself._

Draco replied with a word he wouldn’t have said out loud. Drake huffed out a breath but seemed to decide to continue despite the insult.

_If I might have your full attention now,_ Draco rolled his eyes, _yes, thank you for that. Anyway. I’ve returned from my limited explorations with somewhat concerning results._

Draco waited. He knew if he opened his mouth, well – whatever it was called in one’s own head – they’d never get to the important bit. He seemed a bit overly capable of bickering with himself.

_I’m not certain how to put this, so I’ll just lay it out plainly._ A pause here, the voice seeming to draw in a deep breath, despite its formlessness, before continuing. _I appear to be stuck with no possible route back to my own natural timeline._

Draco’s eyes widened, the only visible reaction he would allow himself. He had been unacceptably lax lately about showing emotions through visible means and it wouldn’t do for a Malfoy. He made a mental note to add in some practice time around receiving shocking information elegantly.

_Focus, Draco!_ The voice was sharp, drawing Draco back from the mental stutter he’d been stuck on.

_What do you mean, exactly, when you say that you are stuck?_ Narcissa Malfoy would have swooned with praise for the calm conversational tone her son managed to use while asking that question.

_What part of stuck is giving you trouble, exactly? Stuck. Trapped. Marooned. Cornered. Take your pick._

_I thought you said you had a plan!_ Draco insisted.

_I did! It just didn’t work out exactly as I had hypothesized._ A bit of a pout in the tone caused Draco to narrow his eyes menacingly.

_As you had hypothesized? Did you not run any tests to be certain before embarking on this insane adventure into my bloody brain?_ Draco knew he was shouting, but as it was all in his head, it seemed not to breach any rules of pureblood etiquette.

_Of course I did!_ Drake insisted. _What do you take me for, a fool? All the trials went fine!_

_Then how did this happen?_ Draco countered.

_Well, it appears that, well…_ Drake trailed off. Draco waited impatiently, his anger simmering. He almost missed Drake’s reply as it was spoken so quietly.

_What was that?_ Draco was sure he hadn’t heard correctly.

_I must have made a mistake!_ Drake shouted. _Alright? I must have mixed up one of the incantations or put a rune for ‘stay’ where I meant for a rune for ‘travel’ or something! I don’t know! I spent all that time trying to figure it out and I can’t. I’m stuck. We’re just going to have to deal with it._

Draco was surprised to find himself growling wordlessly in anger.

_Also, I ought to tell you…_ Drake continued, seeming if not immune to Draco’s anger, at least willing to push past it. _You, uhh, well. You also might be dying._


	7. Thinking Makes It So

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments, it really makes me want to keep writing! So here is a much longer chapter to make up for the tiny one from yesterday! 
> 
> Sorry to anyone that hates cliffhangers, I hadn't even considered that yesterdays post left everyone dangling, as I went off to write the next immediately! I know some people warn for cliffhangers, but personally I feel like it takes something away from the story when you're braced for it, so I probably won't be posting warnings. Let this serve instead: this story has cliffhangers occasionally between chapters. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)

Chapter Six – Thinking Makes It So

 

 

Draco spent the next several days in the library. He left the library for meals, sometimes, and classes, always. His eyes burned and were bloodshot from strain. He knew his normally pale complexion looked gray from lack of sunlight. He read until his brain couldn’t absorb any more information, then continued reading and turning pages while Drake took over.

It was a strange quirk they had uncovered that made things much easier, and also much more difficult at the same time. They had found that just as Drake knew things Draco didn’t, he could also learn new things that Draco didn’t know. By accident one day, Draco had failed to realize he was not retaining what he was reading and instead was simply staring dully at the aged yellow pages before him, only for Drake to comment on the topic of the text! By comparing what they remembered of the research they’d been doing, they realized they could cover more ground than Draco could do on his own.

The downside of this realization, however, was now apparent in Draco’s exhaustion. There was a reason your brain eventually stopped you from continuing on in your studies, and it was to ensure you didn’t kill yourself from lack of rest.

When Draco woke on Thursday morning, laying with his head pillowed on the wooden library table in front of him, he was startled to find he was lying in a pool of blood. Before he could process this information, Madam Pince appeared and began shrieking at him about defiling the books. Draco, though dizzy and confused, managed to stumble away from the crazied librarian, only to find himself near the entrance hall, still covered in blood. Luck was on his side, however, and the first person he stumbled across was none other than Madam Pomfrey who simply clucked at him in dismay and bustled him off to the hospital wing. There he was given a Restorative Draught which, when swallowed, felt like sunshine pouring through his body, awakening his blood and bones along with his mind.

Madam Pomfrey siphoned the blood off Draco with a movement of her wand and proceeded to lecture him at the same time. “I’ve seen it more times than I can count! You poor lambs study too hard and the ones with weak constitutions can’t handle the strain! It is quite early in the year for study related fatigue, however. How many hours a day have you been studying, young man?” She pinned him with the look perfected by mother everywhere, scrutinizing and shrewd.

Draco could hardly process how wonderful he felt compared to when he had woken just a short time ago. It took him a moment, and Madam Pomfrey to shake his shoulder a bit, before he realized she’d been asking him something. He rewound the conversation and found her questions. Him! Delicate constitution! The nerve! He drew himself up to his full height, spine straight and chin up, and prepared to deliver a scathing retort.

 _Now, now,_ Drake chimed in before Draco could speak. _Don’t go making an enemy out of the only person in this castle with Mediwitch training._

Draco deflated. Drake was right. All of their research thus far pointed to difficult potions and remedies to prolong Draco’s life. He couldn’t afford to upset Madam Pomfrey. Lucky for Draco, the matronly witch took his silence as a sign that he wasn’t fully recovered and gave him a moment to consider his words and actions. He decided on a slightly chagrined but simple First Year.

“Oh my, thank you so much, ma’am,” he gushed. “I feel ever so much better now! You’re absolutely right; I’ve been studying all the time because there is just so much to learn! I never could have imagined it all…” he trailed off, trying to judge if his impression of wide-eyed naivety would pass her inspection.

She examined him for another moment and then dismissed him without further comment, to Draco’s relief. He couldn’t risk drawing attention from staff or student until he had worked out exactly what needed to be done.

Draco Malfoy was not going to die before his 12th birthday and he was going to do anything necessary to ensure that was the case. The next phase of his plan required assistance and Draco was ready to draw Harry into his circle of trust. The trick was in getting him away from Weasley for long enough, and Draco thought he had found a way.

\---

Gryffindors and Slytherins filed out onto the lawn in the crisp fall afternoon air and gathered in a loose circle around Madam Hooch and a rather shoddy collection of school brooms. Flying lessons. Draco was banking on the general chaos of the first flying lesson of the year to create an opportunity for him to talk to Potter. He wouldn’t risk being overheard and someone bringing his plans to the attention of school officials.

Draco spotted his opportunity when the great walking accident known as Neville Longbottom managed to injure himself floating less than a wands length above the ground. After being escorted away by Madam Hooch, who left a stern rejoinder that brooms stayed on the ground while she was gone, Longbottom himself provided the opportunity Draco had been looking for. On the ground where Longbottom had fallen now rested a large glass marble. Draco swooped in and picked it up, crowing about his discovery in a manner meant to attract attention.

“Ooo! Look what Longbottom left behind! Fancy a game of catch, Potter?” Draco threw an inviting grin at Potter, who was standing clustered together with several other Gryffindors. Draco tossed the Remembrall (he realized what it was when it turned an opaque minty green in his hand, indicating that he had **not** recently forgotten anything) up in the air and caught it, then winked at Potter again, who was looking indecisive next to the troll-faced Weasley. Draco continued his playful, attention seeking act and rushed to one of the school brooms, mounting it and kicking off all in one motion.

“Come on, Potter. You’re not scared of heights are you?” He knew he sounded taunting more than friendly in that moment and thought it would be enough to get the other boy into the air. Hopefully Potter would forgive the attitude when he realized the importance of the invitation to play catch.

Draco rose steadily on his broom, still tossing the Remembrall and catching it himself while he waited for Potter to gather his nerve down below. Soon enough, Harry was headed straight for him and Draco turned his broom to race away. _Less catch and more keep away, really_ , he thoughtto himself as he circled up and around a large pine tree. He stopped abruptly on the far side of the tree from the group of students and had to catch Potter’s arm when he nearly zoomed right by. He only had a second and Draco wasn’t going to waste it.

“Potter. I need your help; it’s a matter of life and death. Play along for now and meet me at midnight tomorrow night in the trophy room. Got it?”

Draco was pleased that Harry’s expression cleared of the frown he’d had while chasing him as soon as he realized Draco was serious. It warmed Draco to know that Harry cared about his wellbeing enough to agree to a secret meeting with no other information. Draco flashed a grateful smile at Potter and then zoomed back around the tree.

“Almost got me with your trick there, Potter, but see how you handle this!” With that, Draco launched the Remembrall into the air, where it sailed for some distance before plummeting toward the ground. Draco quickly brought himself back to the lawn, but then watched with the rest of the students in open mouthed astonishment as Harry sped after the Remembrall, falling into a steep dive to catch it with an outstretched hand, just seconds before tumbling gently as a feather off his broom and onto the grass. Draco winced when he heard the voice of Professor McGonagall reverberate across the lawn.

“Harry Potter! What in the name of Merlin were you doing just there?” McGonagall came to a stop directly in front of the now sheepish looking Harry, who had his shoulders hunched as if against a blow, as he held out his hand for McGonagall to see the toy.

“I’m sorry, Professor, really. Malf – uhhh, I was just playing around with Neville’s Remembrall before giving it back to him in the hospital wing, and I dropped it and…”

“That’s quite enough!” The Professor took hold of Harry by the shoulder of his robe and led him back toward the castle. The Gryffindors watching began to murmur in disbelief that Harry hadn’t ratted Draco out, and the Slytherins were looking at Draco with curious consideration. It seemed clear to them that Draco had set Potter up for the trouble with McGonagall. Pansy sidled up to Draco just then and confirmed what he was seeing.

“Well done, Draco. Taking perfect Potty down a notch.”

Draco looked at her impassively and replied in a lazy voice. “Whatever do you mean, Pans? I was nowhere near Potter when he decided to mess about with that squib’s baby toy.” Both Gryffindor and Slytherin students reacted at this and Draco strolled away, calling over his shoulder. “I’m done with flying lessons, my father paid for the best flying tutors’ years ago. There’s nothing new I can learn here.”

\---

The following night was Friday and the closer it got to midnight, the more Draco’s anxiety about the coming meeting increased. Drake had tried to reassure him that he had in the past set Potter up to be found wandering about the castle and the bloke had never been caught, but this only increased Draco’s worry. While he had played the afternoon’s events off to the watching audience of students, he was badly shaken that he had gotten Potter in trouble with McGonagall and wasn’t at all sure that Harry would show up or if he’d instead told the staff where Draco planned for them to meet.

Draco left the Slytherin dungeons at a quarter past 11 that night, a bit earlier than necessary, but he was unable to convince himself to wait any longer. Potions had been torture that morning, with Draco arriving late after oversleeping (after research at the library had seen him to bed at half 4) so Weasley had been firmly ensconced in the seat next to Potter’s. Then Draco had managed to spill armadillo bile on his robes, necessitating a change between classes so that he missed Potter leaving potions before he could confirm their plans that night.

Draco was grateful he was early, however, when he ran across Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, roaming up and down the corridor of the Charms wing. He had to double back to avoid Filch and his evil cat, Mrs. Norris, causing him to arrive at the trophy room only minutes before midnight. He was quite concerned as he slunk down the corridor toward the room filled with trophies and memorabilia from Hogwarts' over-achievers of years gone, at the number and volume of voices he seemed to be hearing at his approach. Draco was almost positive he had told Potter to come alone, and well, even if he hadn’t, weren’t secret midnight meetings the sort you naturally came to by yourself? Draco’s lip curled as he imagined the Weasley following despite Potter’s protests. That only accounted for one extra voice, however, and Draco was now quite certain there were at least four people all trying to whisper shout at the same time.

“Give it up, Harry, he’s not coming,” Draco was sure that was the Weasley.

“Stop it, Ron. He told me it was life or death. You can go back to the common room and wait like I asked.” This was definitely Harry’s voice and Draco was pleased that he sounded annoyed.

“We should all be going back to the common room!” This voice was clearly female, despite its attempts at a hushed whisper. It had the imperious tone Draco had gotten used to hearing from Hermione Granger. Draco was a bit confused by this, he hadn’t gotten the impression that Potter and Granger were friends, and he knew Weasley had insulted the girl for being a know it all just recently. Draco loitered outside the room, listening. He didn’t want to walk into a trap, after all.

The students continued to argue fruitlessly and Draco tired of listening. Stepping into the doorway to reveal himself as he spoke, Draco interrupted the argument. “Potter, why is it that I invite you to a secret meeting in the dead of night and you bring your friends along?”

Four surprised faces turned to face Draco and he registered that the fourth companion was none other than Neville Longbottom.

“And Longbottom, really, Potter? I’d have thought you’d have left him back just on principle. At least Granger has a brain in her head.” He nodded at Hermione as if he had paid her a compliment. “I suppose you needed someone to look after Weasley?”

Draco was pleased that Longbottom and Weasley both looked perturbed by his remarks and he allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction.

“Malfoy,” Potter didn’t sound quite as pleased to see Draco as he had hoped, but he supposed the events at the flying lessons might have upset Potter a tiny bit. “That was a rotten thing you did this afternoon, and I thought we were friends! You’d better have a good explanation.”

“Oh, I do, Potter. Just not one that I’ll share in front of your… mixed company.” Draco emphasized the last two words, ensuring his disdain for Harry’s company was clear in his tone. Weasley squawked in indignation and started forward with his fists raised.

Harry held out a hand to Weasley, stopping him for the moment, but directed his words at Draco. “Lay off my friends, Malfoy, if you want me to listen to anything you have to say.”

All five students froze as Harry finished, each hearing the same thing. Footsteps. Longbottom whimpered and looked wildly between Harry and Draco as if they would offer escape. Granger crossed her arms across her chest and hissed at no one in particular, “You’ve done it now! We’ll all be caught and lose points for our House!”

Draco had always prided himself on his planning ability, and no plan was complete without backup plans for when things go awry, and thus he knew exactly what he would do next. “Potter! With me!” He grabbed Potter by the sleeve of his robe and towed him toward the far end of the trophy room. He hissed back to the others who were still standing like scared rabbits, in perfect view in the middle of the room. “Run!”

Draco did not look back to see if his order was taken, but focused on leading Potter behind several large tapestries that depicted a wizard driving centaurs out of a town (the town looked very much like Hogsmeade, in fact) and into a forest that resembled the Forbidden Forest. Behind the tapestries was a door, which Draco tapped in a rhythmical pattern. Potter, who thankfully had a bit of sense, followed him without question or comment. Draco led the way down a spiraling staircase and out into the cheerful warm comfort of the kitchens. Since it was the middle of the night, the giant fireplaces were all banked, but still lit with red-orange coals, and the long tables were empty. The house elves were nowhere in sight, which suited Draco just fine.

Potter looked around the large room with astonishment. Clearly he had not found the kitchens on his own yet, which made Draco feel smugly satisfied that he knew more of Hogwarts than Harry. He was working on limited time, however, and soon drew Potter’s attention back to him.

“Really, Potter. Granger, Weasley and Longbottom? How did that happen?” He said this with a playful tone but Harry’s sharp look quickly turned him sober.

“Malfoy, you’d better start explaining yourself…” Harry didn’t continue the threat, but Draco gave him his most somber expression, including hands clasped in front of him earnestly.

“Really, mate, I’m truly sorry about the trouble with McGonagall. Couldn’t have predicted the outcome there and I never meant to get you in trouble –“

Harry cut Draco off with a sharp movement of his hand. “Never mind that! I knew you were playing around. Its all the insulting of my friends you’ve been doing that I’m mad about! Making fun of Neville, taunting Ron. What’s gotten in to you?”

Draco sighed and allowed his real expression to melt through the façade. Harry immediately stepped forward, a hand reaching out for Draco in concern. “What’s wrong, Draco? You look awful!” Draco warmed inside as Harry’s hand landed on his shoulder. It was so nice that someone was looking at him with concern and caring instead of suspicion. Draco sighed heavily and motioned Harry to sit at one of the long benches.

“It’s a long story, Potter, and I’m not sure you’ll believe me, but I’m in terrible trouble.”

“Whatever it is, Malfoy, tell me. I want to know how I can help!”

Draco had thought of this moment many times over the last several days and was ready with a condensed version of the events. He quickly outlined Drake’s appearance and advice-giving, along with his attempts to return to his own timeline and the resulting research the two had done. Draco finished with the ominous information Drake had provided on his return.

Harry looked stunned. Draco rather thought Harry could use some time practicing his facial expressions, as his stunned look resembled that of a concussed nargle he had once seen a house elf at Malfoy Manor disposing of. Draco waited for Harry to recover his wits before starting in on the particulars.

Harry spoke slowly, as if in rephrasing the information, understanding would come. “You…have…in your head?”

Well, it was a start, Draco thought. “Yes,” he nodded encouragingly.

“Yourself? From the future?”

Another nod from Draco.

Harry ran his hand through his hair and Draco realized why Potter looked so disheveled all the time, as it looked like a familiar habit.

Harry cleared his throat and looked directly at Draco. “Okay. Time turner. Future Draco stuck in your head. Let’s just say I believe you, Malfoy. What’s the life and death bit?”

Draco was pleased that Harry seemed willing to hear him out. “It’s about life force.” Draco had prepared a simplified explanation in advance, knowing that the specifics of the magic that Drake had used would only complicate things. “Every living thing has an energy that sustains it. When Drake came back in time, he had to leave his body, his energy source, behind. The distance was too far to travel by the usual means of time travel, so he had to modify the spell the time turner used.” Draco paused to make sure Harry was still following.

“I didn’t even know time travel was possible!” Harry sounded mystified.

“It’s a well-guarded secret of the Ministry’s. Or at least it is in our time. Drake says there was a break in at the Ministry of Magic and some time turners got stolen. He –“ Draco paused, not wanting to cast a shadow on Drake. “He acquired one and modified it for his needs. That’s really beside the point, anyway. So when Drake came through, he had to leave his body behind, meaning that his energy source, the thing that sustains his life, was left behind as well. Right now, my life force is sustaining both of us, but it’s not meant to do that. Drake has done some calculations and he believes that the energy required will use up my life force within six months.”

They’d gotten to the crux of the issue now and Potter was nodding his understanding. “So you either need to find Drake a different life source or figure out how to get him back to his own.” Draco was impressed with how quickly Harry had grasped the particulars.

“Exactly.”

“And if you don’t?” Draco returned the direct look Potter was giving him, looking into the deep green eyes that were filled with concern.

“I die,” he said simply. “Drake uses up my energy and we both just wither away from lack of life.”

“We’re not going to let that happen.” Potter sounded confident in a way Draco couldn’t help but believe. Draco smiled a true smile at Harry, one of friendship and appreciation. Harry smiled back.

“Do you have a plan?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” Draco replied.

\---

Draco returned to the Slytherin dungeons just as the sun began to rise over the top of the Forbidden Forest. Harry had forgiven him for acting like a prat to his friends and was more than willing to help sort out the problem with Drake and their shared life force. Draco went to sleep with a hope he had not felt since Drake delivered the news of his impending demise, and dreamed of the future.

 

 


	8. Three Heads Are Better Than Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry its been a whole week with no update! I've been feeling a bit gross and not up to doing much, and unfortunately writing took the hit. I think I'm back on track now and there should continue to be a new chapter every few days. 
> 
> Thanks for hanging in there and please let me know what you think in the comments!!

Chapter Seven – Three Heads Are Better Than Two

 

Draco’s relief at having Harry agree to help him lasted through the next several weeks of classes, during which Potter had been diligent in joining Draco in the library for research and discussion about the plan they had been developing. One Tuesday late in the term, Draco even found himself, after much cajoling from Harry, agreeing to bring Hermione in on their project. The two boys had spent another evening fruitlessly scouring books and scrolls in the library for the information they needed, when Harry had brought up Hermione as a possible resource against their waning success.

“Malfoy, I’m telling you, your ridiculous prejudice against muggleborns is going to get you killed!” Harry punctuated this statement with the slamming closed of another dusty tome. Draco barely registered what Harry had said as he quickly glanced up and down the rows of shelves visible from their table tucked away in a corner of the library, on the lookout for Madam Pince. The sour faced old librarian had a habit of popping up anytime she suspected students of mishandling her precious volumes.

Once Draco was certain they were not about to be interrupted by the librarian he turned his focus to Harry and rewound the conversation back to Harry’s words. Before he could speak, Drake spoke up in his mind, reinforcing the same message. _He’s right, you know. And he doesn’t even know how bad its gotten._

“Potter, if you really think Granger is going to come up with some brilliant path of research that both of myselves have been unable to think of,” Draco paused as he considered the strange path his life had taken resulting in statements like “both of myselves” but quickly dismissed the distraction and continued, “then by all means, invite the teacher’s pet.” Draco waved his hand dismissively as Harry started to speak. “I know, I know, no name calling. But really, Potter, what else should I call her?”

As Harry started to lecture Draco for what must be the hundredth time on using slurs like “mudblood” and “blood traitor” along with the much more innocuous “teacher’s pet” and “spotty git” (that one reserved for the Weasley) Draco considered what his alternate self had said. _He doesn’t know how bad its gotten._

It was true that Draco was hiding the worst of the energy drain symptoms from Potter’s notice, but he assured himself this was for both of their benefits. If Potter was constantly harping on Draco’s run down appearance, they would have no time to solve the problem, only discuss it. While Draco was certain his combination of unregulated mail order Pepper Up potions and Sister Stella’s Superior Strengthening Elixir (a viscous purple potion that made Draco burp most unappealingly for several hours after drinking) was sufficient to maintain his wellbeing for now, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty that he was lying to his closest friend.

Potter’s lecture began to ramble toward it’s conclusion (Harry was very big hearted but not the greatest lecturer), so Draco tried to focus the conversation down a more useful path.

“Has Hagrid said anything else about the thing that’s been hidden in the castle?” Draco inquired. He silently congratulated himself as Potter took the bait and veered off course in his lecture.

“No, he’s being remarkably tight lipped about the whole thing. For Hagrid, it’s practically a miracle that he hasn’t let anything else slip! He rambles on about every other topic under the sun.” Draco noted Harry’s glower of frustration at his inability to get more information from his source. The gamekeeper that had befriended Harry when he first learned he was a wizard had initially dropped several accidental clues that Draco and Harry had quickly put together to form the basis of their current plan. Harry had previously told Draco about the mysterious package from Gringott’s, and Hagrid’s comments about it being only the business of Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel. This little gem had immediately brought up the possibility of the Philosopher’s Stone, as Draco was certainly familiar with the history of Flamel and his research into immortality. But research had since stalled in that while they were fairly certain the Stone was in the castle, they had no ideas about retrieving it for Draco’s use.

The Stone’s location was actually the bone of contention in their discussion about Hermione as well, as Harry insisted that if they needed ideas about how to find the Stone, Hermione would have them, and know how to accomplish it. Draco knew that Harry was correct about Hermione’s research and idea prowess, but still reluctant to divulge his personal difficulties to anyone else. Despite Draco’s conversational manipulation, Harry had followed the same thought as Draco, straight back to the muggleborn witch.

“So you’re telling me that if I invite Hermione to study with us tomorrow you’ll be friendly and not drive her off with some insult as soon as she’s arrived?” Draco was a bit offended at the tone of disbelief Harry used to voice this question, but decided to follow his better nature and ignore the doubt.

“Yes, Potter.” Draco’s voice was the mocking drawl he practiced regularly and was always sure to ignite Harry’s temper when directed at him. “I promise to be nice to the…” he paused just long enough for Harry to bristle for the insult, “Gryffindor.” Draco grinned at Harry when the boy’s green eyes flashed up from his book to meet Draco’s gray, both dancing with amusement at their own personal brand of friendship – bickering and insults combined with guarded trust and affection.

It was actually a very fortuitous turn of events that Draco and Harry had such a tumultuous relationship that involved equal parts insults and arguing, as it also served as a cover to mask their deepening friendship from outside observation. Pansy, who was originally suspicious of the time that Draco was spending with Harry, had even begun acting as though she was in on a big secret game Draco was playing with Harry. When she saw them together she would send Draco knowing looks. Even Professor Snape seemed to believe Draco was engaged in some kind of long term frienemy situation with Potter, and no longer balked when the two worked together in Potions lessons, as they frequently seemed to make Harry more frustrated than Snape could accomplish on his own.

\---

Harry seemed to take Draco at his word that he would behave in the company of Granger and so arranged for her to join them in the library the following night. Draco arrived at their usual table in one of the many alcoves of the library first, which was not unusual. While the food at Hogwarts was edible, if not up to the quality produced at Malfoy Manor, recently Draco had found himself unable to stomach more than a few bites at any meal. This was despite the lectures from Drake on keeping his energy up and sideways glances from Pansy, and so Draco frequently found himself finishing his meal quickly as to avoid prolonged looks.

Draco brought to the library several of the scrolls he and Harry had compiled, mostly research on the properties of the Philosopher’s Stone and a few bits of possible useful information about Time Turners he was proud to have found in a very old volume of the Ministry of Magic Employee Handbook. Generally Draco kept the scrolls in a locked truck in his dormitory where nosy classmates couldn’t find them, but he had thought Hermione might want to begin with a review of their previous work. He spent the time before Potter and Granger arrived organizing the scrolls, even though he had already done so before putting them in his school bag before going up to dinner that evening. He refused to believe that he was nervous about sharing his predicament with Granger and tried instead to appear as nonchalant as possible, shuffling and reviewing the parchment with feigned attention.

**Those who are granted the use of the Time Turner must adhere to Wilifrec Bott’s Laws of Time Travel, as outlined in the documents the witch or wizard in question has received from the Department of Mysteries, and covered briefly below.**

**Chief among those Laws is the commitment to change NOTHING that the traveler encounters. Such acts may result in**

Draco chuckled to himself as he read over the MoM section he previously highlighted, listing possible reasons for termination from employment with the Ministry of Magic. _Good thing you don’t work for the Ministry, Drake. You’ve broken basically all of Bott’s Laws._

_Astonishing, c_ ame the reply in Draco’s head. _I never would have suspected that I shouldn’t **change** something in the past. I wonder if_ that _could have possibly caused this little difficulty we’re experiencing?_ Drake’s voice was the picture of innocence, but the words were spoken so dryly that Draco couldn’t help but chuckle a laugh to himself. He was funny, even stuck in his own head. He wondered, not for the first time, what future Draco looked like, who his friends were, and what he did for a living.

_I feel it must say something about you that you admire me. And I think that something might not be complimentary about your level of narcissism._ Drake spoke without a shred of admonishment, seemingly pleased that he could make his younger self laugh.

Before Draco could reply, once again reminding his future self that any faults of his were surely faults of Drake’s as well, he spotted a familiarly disheveled dark haired figure walking his way. Draco schooled his expression, wiping away the smile he was smiling at nothing and affixing a bored scowl to his face. He resisted the urge to complain about how long he waited and settled for a raised eyebrow that conveyed his (fake) irritation at Harry, who rolled his eyes in reply.

“Potter. Granger. Hello.” Draco spoke formally and inclined his head in a tiny nod of greeting at each. Hermione had her head up and shoulders back as she stood stiffly next to Harry, clutching several of her ever present pile of books to herself as she appraised Draco in front of her with keen eyes. Draco appraised her in return and bit his tongue against the criticisms he longed to share. He would keep his promise to Potter. He gestured to the chairs facing him at the table and Granger perched herself on the edge of one. Harry lowered himself to the other chair and then, rolling his eyes again, kicked Draco under the table.

“Draco. You promised to be nice. Hermione is here as a favor to me, and if you keep looking at her like that, I won’t blame her for leaving you to your fate.”

Draco, using momentous amounts of self restraint, only looked at Harry as innocently as his other self had spoken in his head earlier. He shoved the meticulously organized scrolls across the table at Hermione and sighed as he began spilling his secrets to another Gryffindor.

\---

Brought up to date, Hermione had many more technical questions for Drake than Harry had about the spells he had used to complete the time travel, what specifically he had planned and attempted as part of his return strategy, along with other concerns.

“Really, the best you could come up with was Drake?” Hermione hadn’t waited long to comment on the Draco/Drake name distinction, and apparently her feelings on the subject were strong.

_What is her problem with Drake? It’s not like you should go about calling me “Older Draco” or something ridiculous. At least this way anyone that overhears will simply think you’re conversing about another person._

Draco repeated Drake’s response, not bothering to explain that the response was from the voice rather than himself. The distinction didn’t seem critical.

“Well, that’s true. But Drake?” Hermione’s nose wrinkled each time she said the name and she always spoke it in a tone of someone speaking of something unpleasant. “It sounds like some American pop star’s name.”

Harry, who had until then mostly remained silent during Draco’s confession, now burst into loud peals of laughter. Draco shot him his most potent glare, but the effect was lost in the face of Harry’s mirth.

Draco was unable to repeat Drake’s response to Hermione’s opinion of his name, as it would have surely broken Harry’s rules about manners.

“I suppose there’s nothing to be done about that, though. Have you determined yet the likely locations of the Stone? Or discovered any spells to locate something with that strong of a magical signature? I read something recently about spells that can show you traces of any really strong magic performed. You really should have told me about this with more time before the holidays. I won’t be able to research anything when I’m home!”  Hermione nearly wailed the last, seeming to realize how difficult leaving the Hogwarts library behind would be.

Draco had been unsure until that moment that Hermione was agreeing to help them and found himself unaccountably relieved that the smartest witch of their year was now shooting questions at him faster than he could possibly answer. He shot a quick grin at the smirking Harry and continued to fill Hermione in on everything he and Potter had accomplished so far, as well as whatever info Drake piped in with. They encountered their first big break when Hermione startled the two of them a minute later.

“What about that giant three headed dog? It seems likely that it would be guarding something like the Philosopher’s Stone.” Hermione said this like the presence of a three headed dog in the castle was well known. Draco and Harry both looked at her in shock for several moments before she noticed their surprise.

“You don’t know about the dog, then?” Both boys shook their heads at her and Hermione brightened a bit. “Well, that’s a possible lead then, isn’t it! Remember the night Draco invited us to the trophy room?”

Draco nodded and Harry agreed he remembered as well. Draco also remembered that he hadn’t exactly invited Hermione, Weasley and Longbottom, but decided that now was not the time to bring that up.

“Well, when we all ran after hearing Filch coming, Ron and Neville and I got turned around and ended up in the third floor corridor that has been off limits all year. We didn’t know that’s where we were, and we ended up hiding in a room that had a giant three headed dog!” Draco sat stunned as he listened to the rest of the story of how Hermione and the Gryffindor boys had escaped, and almost missed her next statement. “The dog was standing on top of a trap door. I’m sure it was guarding something, and it makes sense that the something would be the Stone!”

Harry seemed skeptical and expressed his concern. “But, Hermione, why would they have a giant dog in the school to guard the Stone? Didn’t Dumbledore say the corridor was just off limits starting this year? Why would they suddenly need to guard it?”

Hermione was quite animated as she expounded on her theory, and Draco was beginning to believe they may have a hope of finding the Stone after all.

“I don’t know _why_ , Harry, I just know what I saw! I think its worth checking out!”

“I agree,” Draco said, earning startled looks from Hermione and Harry alike.

“Okay,” Harry said. “We just need to figure out how to get past a giant three headed dog, then.”

Hermione’s eagerness dissipated as the difficulty of the task she had proposed dawned on all three of them.

 


	9. Interludes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Faithful Readers! I’ve got a bit of a short one today, but were setting up for more dense chapters coming up, so don’t be alarmed. :) 
> 
> Thanks goes to commenter diddleymaz, who said: “Dray would sound like an American pop star, Drake sounds like the famous Elizabethan sea captain. Hermione would imediately think of Sir Francis Drake.” Diddleymaz, thanks for the feedback and I love your perspective so much I may have included it in this chapter. ;) 
> 
> And on to the work…

 

 

Chapter Eight – Interlude 

 

With the Christmas holidays and subsequent time off from school approaching quickly, the trio had difficulty making progress on their research. All three of them were forced to balance course work and extracurricular activities, though the latter activities differed significantly between each. Draco was surpised to find that Harry has a good deal of responsibility to his Quidditch team, often practicing every evening as the team was unable to meet during holidays, and Hermione had to balance course work along with her independent research as well as looking into Draco’s plight. Offhandedly, she once mentioned that she usually read two or three additional books on every topic they had covered in class and Draco found he was holding two pieces of quill instead of one, having broken the thing in two in his astonishment. Draco found himself flabbergasted, a quite unfamiliar feeling for him, and attempted to stave off an exclamation that might imply that he did not do the exact same thing, I’m sure. Draco himself was forced to spend more and more time resting, preparing and ingesting potions, and thus none of the three had sufficient time to find the answers they were seeking before the break.

The day before the end of term, Hermione was loathe to conclude that the library, even one as grand as Hogwarts, had limitations, particularly when it came to magical creatures that had never been reported as actually existing. While they managed to find several references to mythical three headed dogs, no wizard had ever reported actually seeing one in real life. After a frustrated Hermione stated this, Harry piped up in a response that Draco was certain he hadn’t considered before saying.

“Well, ‘Mione, once we figure it out, **you** can be the first person to write a book about their behavior and habits.” Potter, of course, followed this with a winning smile that dimmed quickly when subjected to Hermione’s wrathful glare.

“Harry, while its wonderful that you think so highly of my writing skills, I do believe we should spend more time with books than with Quidditch magazines!” Hermione punctuated the last several words with flicks of her wand that lifted the copy of the Quidditch magazine that Harry had been hiding inside the volume of Magical Canine Husbandry by Sandulf Whelp, and floated it gently over and into her outstretched hand. She carefully stowed it in her school bag, already buldging with books she had checked out for reading while home for the holidays. Draco suppressed his smile and diligently pretended to read his own book. “You’d think you’d forgotten that your friend is dying.” The last words were nearly hissed and both Harry and Draco responded by gluing their eyes to the pages in front of them.

While Hermione was incredibly intelligent and very dedicated to finding a cure for Draco’s ailment, Draco couldn’t help but have some concerns with her approach. Hermione continued to insist that they would find the answers they needed in the library, as of course the library would be the place to turn for any knowledge. By comparison, Draco and Harry presented the opinion that possibly they should be focusing on coming up with plans to subdue or enchant the giant dog. When pressed, however, neither young man had a solid idea of how they would accomplish such a feat, and continued on with their research.

At the last possible moment, Draco made the decision to stay at Hogwarts over the holiday. This choice was incredibly difficult, as it meant giving up time being coddled and pampered by his mother and the Malfoy house elves, as well as limiting the feasts he would enjoy. At home, the Malfoy family had several gatherings over the holiday season, grand balls and small intimate dinners alike, and at Hogwarts there would only be one, on Christmas Day. The final determination came when Draco looked in the mirror. He’d lost weight (not having any to spare in the first place, he now looked a bit skeletal), his eyes were deep sockets in his face, their natural gray turned nearly colorless against his pale skin. Things were getting worse quickly and Draco could not risk his parents asking questions. The upside, however, would be that he and Harry were two of a very small number of students remaining at Hogwarts, and thus would have plenty of time for both research and leisure.

\---

The two boys said goodbye to Hermione that afternoon and decided to take the rest of the day off from studying. To be precise, Draco had decided they would take the day off and was busily wheedling Harry into agreement.

“Potter, I think if you keep squinting at that book like you’re doing, you’ll begin to have premature wrinkles. You don’t want to be the only wrinkled eleven year old, do you?”

“Thank you for your concern, Malfoy, but I’m fine. I already told you I don’t want to go flying, it’s cold, and besides, I don’t think you could sit a broomstick in your frail condition.”

Draco was unable to hold back his gasp at the insult Harry had inflicted without consideration and nearly sputtered his reply. “I can’t even! A Malfoy not able to keep his seat on a broom? Potter, have you been sampling Snape’s experimental potions?”

As this level of emotional display was unusual for Draco, Harry lifted his head and studied the slim blond figure in front of him. Draco was sitting carelessly arranged on a wooden chair, one leg propped on the knee of the other, arms crossed now in dismay. The position was, of course, completely orchestrated to look casual and uncaring, but Draco was concerned that Harry seemed to focus in on the lines of stress in his posture.

Draco didn’t like the considering look Potter was giving him. “Are you certain you aren’t just afraid I’ll get the Snitch from you?” This was a tactic that was almost certain to get a rise from Harry.

“No, Malfoy, I’m not. I’ve beaten you four out of five of our last games. Stop trying to distract me. Say, have you heard much from Drake lately?”

Draco snorted in response. Potter seemed to bring out all his uncouth mannerisms without his consent. “No, not recently. He’d been staying pretty quiet after we determined that interacting was likely to drain more energy more quickly, and after Hermione referred to him as ‘The Sea Captain Extraordinaire’ the other night, I think he’s gone off to pout.”

Hermione continued to mock older Draco’s choice of nicknames and Draco was forced to admire her slightly Slytherin streak as she seemed to relish coming up with new plays on the name. Recently she had determined that it reminded her of the famous Elizabethan sea captain, Sir Francis Drake, and Drake was not well pleased.

“Well, that’s good, then. Quiet means less energy drain, right?”

“Exactly! Which is why I have enough energy to play Quidditch.” Draco stood and pushed his chair toward the library table, grinning at Harry. “You’ve just sold me, Potter. Off to the pitch we go.”

With only the tiniest bit of exasperation, Harry closed the book he was reading and stood. “All right, Malfoy, but only one game, then you eat a full meal afterward. Deal?”

Draco warmed in an odd way at the concern Harry was displaying for him. Previously he had gone to lengths to hide any troubles from his friends as they would only use them in the most Slytherin way possible, but things were apparently different with Gryffindors. When you confided in them, they did the most ridiculous thing: they tried to help.


	10. Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the great comments, encouragement, and kudos!

Chapter Nine – Intentions 

 

After the mass exodus of students from the school, Hogwarts became very quiet. Only a handful of students remained over the holidays, and none of the rest were first years, so both Draco and Harry had their dormitories to themselves, along with sparsely occupied common rooms. With that in mind, Draco turned all of his ample persuasive power toward convincing Harry that the absolute best place to study would be in the Slytherin first year dorm room.

Harry was, understandably, reluctant to comply with Draco’s request, showing a strange level of foresight for a Gryffindor,  but was eventually won over with Draco’s judicious use of his ailment as bargaining power. An agreement was reached wherein Draco consented to stay in bed, and Harry agreed grudgingly that he would have to visit the Slytherin’s room in order to advance their research, so long as Draco kept to his part of the bargain. They even shook hands on it.

Harry’s first foray into enemy territory was accompanied by much whispering and sneaking, as well as somewhat of a letdown feeling when the boys reached the dorm room without seeing a single other individual, human or ghostly. Fortified by their success, they began a daily ritual wherein Draco would meet Harry at the foot of the last staircase to the dungeon and escort him back to his room, where they would then spend the day alternately studying and loafing about.

Draco complained most bitterly about the restrictions on movement their agreement had forced, but in truth was relieved to find that the extended period of rest was actually extremely beneficial to his health. This was the only positive result of the first several weeks of their holiday, unless one counted the strengthening of the friendship between the two boys, which Draco most certainly did not, despite likely appearances to the contrary. They had been spending so much time together of late that they often completed each others’ sentences half way through, or spoke an idea aloud at the same moment it occurred to the other. Harry said it was symbiosis, and explained something about a fish and a more dangerous fish together, that he had apparently learned about in primary school, but Draco lost interest when it became apparent that none of the creatures in the tale were magical.

They often didn’t even leave the room for meals, as Draco had only to open the boxes his family sent to him daily. The packages always contained an assortment of delights that the boys munched on throughout the day, whenever the mood struck.

One afternoon, as Draco was focused on removing all of the bits of currant from a Chelsea bun and setting them to the side, (he liked to eat them separately, first the currants, then the sweet pastry) he almost missed a comment from Harry that likely sparked all of the events that followed. As luck would have it, however, Harry had spoken the words around an incredibly large mouthful of Sticky Ticky’s Tasty Toffee, and Draco was forced to attend to his friends’ abysmal manners.

“Harry Fernicous Potter! Were you raised by wild Nargles?” Draco found himself shouting phrases that reminded him strangely of his own father whenever Harry’s dreadful lack of manners became too much to bear and he was forced to comment on them. As usual at these moments, Harry was looking back at Draco in complete surprise, his bewildered expression only increased by the sweet in his mouth that had appeared now to have locked his jaw completely shut. Quite charatiably, Draco thought, he did not waste any time unsticking Harry’s jaw with a neatly executed _Redesco Toffeetum_ spell, afterwhich Potter muttered a grateful response.

“Thanks, mate!” the dark haired boy chirped with a grin from his place on the floor. He was spread out on the rug in front of a fireplace burning with green, blue, and purple flames. The fireplace had appeared on their second day studying in the dormitory, as if the room had decided they might as well be comfortable if they were going to spend so much time there. Harry frequently curled up on the rug in front of it, as if he were a house pet himself. This, along with the disgust Draco was feeling about the toffee incident, were the catalyst for Draco to begin lecturing.

“Potter, I really don’t understand why you can’t even employ the most basic manners. I do truly understand that you were raised by Muggles, which are not much better than Nargles, but I feel that you’ve had enough time here in my influence to rise above that plight.” Draco stated all of this in his signature drawl, and is stymied when Harry does nothing but laugh in response. Draco is often stymied to find that Harry frequently laughs off his most scathing comments, brushing them aside with only a mild “Draco just needs to remind us he’s a Slytherin every now and then,” if anyone is within the vicinity to hear and question the conversation. Before Draco could come up with something that would truly hit home, Harry changed the subject.

“You didn’t answer me anyway, before. Do you think a potion might be our best chance?”

Draco blinked at Harry for several heartbeats, trying to remember when they had ever discussed potions previously, as a chance of any kind, best or not.

“Erm,” he stated delicately.

Harry huffed out a breath and sat upright, pulling down his t-shirt that had ridden up his back while he’d been lying on the rug. Draco’s eyes snapped away from the sight as soon as he realized he’d been watching Potter’s bare back in the glow of the firelight with mindless fascination. He felt his cheeks burning as Harry pinned him with a look.

“Malfoy. Be honest with me for once.”

Draco cringed internally, not sure how best to explain his plight. He recently begun to notice that he spends a startling amount of time staring at Harry, for reasons unknown to himself. To be honest, he wonders if Drake might be somehow in charge during those times, as Draco finds his own thoughts quiet and hard to piece together when it happens. Before he could think of anything that might make his staring less creepy than “the voice in my head really likes to look at you” Harry continued speaking.

“I know you’re so tired you’re spacing out when you stare off in the distance like that, but are you even well enough to start classes when term starts back up? Don’t you think you should at least talk to Madam Pom-“

Once realizing that Harry is completely oblivious to the reason for his hundred yard stare, Draco seized the convenient excuse and took the conversation over.

“Harry, that ‘staring’ that you’re talking about is my version of thinking.” Draco put the word “staring” into air quotes and continued.

“I know that you have difficulty with the concept, Potter, but some people require _quiet_ to think, without you blabbing on about – “ a lengthy pause occurred before Draco continued with, ”potions.” 

Draco spoke the last word with different emphasis and stared off into space. (He was telling the truth, he does think best while staring off, but he usually tried to avoid it when others were present).

“Potions,” Draco said again. He failed to notice Harry boggling at him from his place on the floor.

“Harry Bellby Potter,” Draco had been trying out various middle names for Harry, after asserting that “James” was simply too plain to use in such a fashion.

“You are brilliant. You are a genius. No, I am a genius and you are the muse.”

Draco would have gone on about their (possibly) shared brilliance at length but Harry interrupted.

“Malfoy, have you really lost it this time? You’re making less sense than usual, and that’s saying something with you lately, mate.”

Draco laugh was boisterously and he flung himself out of bed to whirl about the room. He’d had an epiphany and nothing was going to bring him down! He paused to wink at Potter before twirling again, and ended with a flourish, bowing to offer Harry his hand.

Potter took Draco’s pale fingers in his own tanned and Quidditch roughed palm and Draco helped to hoist him off the floor. Draco’s excitement was infectious, and even without understanding the cause, Harry grinned back when Draco offered him a wide smile.

“Fine,” he said and purposefully drops Harry’s hand.

“I’ll explain for those of us less gifted by moments of perfect clarity.” Draco made his way back to the bed and at a larger distance from Harry, whose proximity seems to make his heart beat faster, and outlined his thoughts.

“I read somewhere weeks ago about the Philosopher’s Stone being useful for more than just the standard spells. The book said, let me remember it exactly, it was in Latin so I’ll have to translate as I go,” Draco mused.

Harry spoke again. “You know Latin?”

“Huh?” Draco said, not his most dignified response, but he’s turning Latin into English in his head, for Merlin’s sake!

“Know Latin? Me? Of course! Most of the spells we use have a Latin base to them, Potter, I can’t believe you don’t know that. Anyway, stop trying to turn me from the topic at hand. The Stone, the book said;

                Own ye Stone of Elixir brews ,

                ‘Gainst death and dirth and moniedless ruin

Draco paused. “It’s not quite as pretty out of Latin, rather dry, I think.” Comment done, he continued;

                Thou can use it true,

                For more than life and gold and proof.

“I don’t know what the last bit about ‘proof’ means, but I think that’s pretty clear otherwise, don’t you?”

Harry’s eyes often appeared owlish behind his large round glasses, and the green brighter than any jewels, Draco noted to himself, while his friend’s blank expression showed no sign of understanding. He sighed and then explained.

“Potter, I truly miss Granger at times like these. Its saying, more or less, that the Stone can do more than just make you live forever and turn things into gold. It’s saying you can use it ‘for more than life and gold and proof.’ Those are the things the Stone is known for, right? Well, the first two.”

Harry began to nod along. “Okay, I get it Malfoy. But how to do you know _how_ to use it for something else?”

“That’s what I didn’t know! But you do the same thing you do for the Elixir of Life! You make a potion!”

Draco felt exilirated, like he’d managed to crack the whole thing wide open, while Harry continued to nod slowly, as if weighing his concerns against Draco’s enthusiasm.

“Right… but don’t you need a recipe, I mean, at least some kind of directions, to make a potion?”

“Not according to Snape,” Draco countered. “Remember what he said last week?”

Draco adopted a credible imitation of his dour godfather. “’Often intention is just as important as ingredient when working on advanced potions.’” His Snape imitation had been honed from long years of practice.

“Intention, Potter. With an ingredient as powerful as the Stone, intention will be more important than anything else!”

Harry’s expression seemed to indicate that he was warming up to Draco’s idea, so Draco continued in a rush.

“Look, there are tons of variations between brewing for the Elixir of Life, right? We’ve been running in to that for weeks.” Draco paused for Harry’s quick nod of agreement.

“We didn’t know if it just had a bunch of mistakes or if they all worked or what, right?” Another nod from Potter. Sometimes you had to crawl before you could walk, Draco reminded himself.

“So –“ another pause here. “What if they _all_ work because the ingredients and method don’t matter as much as the intention?”

A look of understanding crossed Harry’s face and Draco huffed out a grateful breath. Sometimes it was truly difficult without Granger to translate the finer points.

“So you’re saying when we get the Stone, you chuck it in to a basic potion and think really hard about Drake going back to his own time, and that’s it?”

“Well,” Draco contemplated sharing everything he and Drake have discussed recently and decided to forge ahead. “Not exactly.”

Harry huffed out a breath of his own and plopped back down onto the rug, legs crossed and knees folded yoga style in front of him. “Malfoy, just tell me what you mean.”

“Drake and I think its unlikely he will be able to go back to his own time at all. We think its possible that the changes in the timeline have actually destroyed the other reality, which is why he couldn’t just go back on his own. We think the best option at this point is to merge our consciousness together. If Drake is a part of my mind instead of a visitor inside it, he will just be part of my thoughts and memories. Like, deja vu, a bit. Something I remember but might be a dream or a memory.”

Harry seemed to be following everything Draco was saying, but backed them up a point. “What do you mean about destroying the other reality? Why would the two of us being friendly matter at all, let alone enough to change the course of the whole world?”

That was the very point that Draco had hoped to breeze past, but Potter had picked up on it. Draco sighed and went with the truth again. Spending all this time around Gryffindors was making him dreadfully honest.

“Drake says he can’t even tell me very much, something he refers to as ‘spoilers’, I guess. I think that’s some kind of joke, but he won’t explain. He says that in his timeline, he and _his_ Potter,” Draco almost winced at the oddly possessive term but instead he cleared his throat.

“Potter from that timeline, that is. They were enemies. The worst of enemies. And that being friends is a big change. That’s all he’ll tell me.” Draco added silently his worst fear, _Except for that bit about how I’m pretty sure he’s in love with_ his _Potter._

The fear was justified, Draco thought, but not one he would ever speak out loud. Once Drake was merged, Draco would stamp out any lingering romantic feelings Drake might have had and he and Potter would remain friends, just as Drake intended. Draco did not have to linger on any tender thoughts just because his alternate self did. He’d already proved he was different than Drake, the moment he shook Harry’s hand, didn’t he? So this would be no different than that, Draco concluded. He chose to ignore the remembered shock of recognition during his first handshake with Potter, as well. Everything would be fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

Draco thought that if he said it enough, he could make it true. Intention was more important than ingredients, after all. 


	11. A Really Good Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, it's been awhile! I was having some trouble with the last two chapters I had posted, and needed a break to get my brain back online! 
> 
> For your incredible amount of patience with me, you are now rewarded doubly! First, if you would like, please hop back to Chapter Eight - and reread that and Chapter Nine, as I've fixed some rather obvious issues. If you'd rather not, that's okay too, because the content hasn't really changed and instead you can move on to the newly posted Chapter Ten!! 
> 
> Let me know what you think and I promise to be back sooner than later!

 

Chapter Ten – A Really Good Day

 

For a while, Draco’s determination that everything would be fine seemed to hold true. The holidays ended in a whirlwind of presents, the traditional Christmas feast, more time with Potter, and a rather touching firecall between Draco and his mother. Having an en suite fireplace was truly a convenient luxury.

Hermione returned by way of the Hogwarts Express, along with the rest of the students, and suddenly Draco and Harry had to adjust back to the daily hustle and bustle of the school. Draco found himself unaccountably lonely for what had to be the first time in his rather solitary life thus far, and had resolved to ignore the feeling whenever it presented itself, such as upon first awakening in the morning.

Draco sat, still in his night clothes, at the edge of his bed and contemplated the queasy feeling in his stomach. He had woken up that morning with an urgent desire to speak to Harry about the dream he had just had, despite not remembering the majority of what had occurred during it. He’d simply woken with the distinct impression that he needed to see Potter. In the spirit of his resolve to ignore Potter related feelings, Draco forced his attention away from the lingering dream feeling and focused on his morning preparations.

Hermione’s return had not just brought back the best researcher for their team, it had also brought about a positive change for Draco’s health. While Hermione was quick to assure them that she **had** , in fact, celebrated the holidays with her family, the amount of research and results she had returned with belayed this statement. Draco was convinced she must have locked herself in a room somewhere and spent the whole month reading pages and pages of books and brewing test potions, as surely this was the only answer to how she had accomplished so much while Harry and Draco had managed so very little. A momentary memory of leisurely hours spent cozily by the fire was banished from Draco’s thoughts before it could fully form and Draco focused on the fruits of Hermione’s labours.

Lined up in a neat row on the shelf of Draco’s wardrobe were a dozen medium sized flasks, all containing the same potion. This potion was the reason that Draco had been able to attend classes as the term recommenced, and were the product of Hermione’s holiday adventures. The potion, which Hermione had named Rejuvenation Juice, was similar to a basic Restorative Draught, but the effects were incredibly magnified. Hermione had refused to recount exactly how she had tested the effects prior to administering the brew to Draco, but had muttered darkly about “compounded lack of sleep” and “neurosis” enough that Draco had stopped asking for details, contented that the end product had replaced his need for any other health products.

After taking his morning dose, the first of three meant to each be taken before a meal, Hermione insisted, Draco reflected that along with being similar in composition to a Restorative Draught, the Rejuvenation Juice also tasted similar. A moment later Draco decided, once the feeling of fire had gone from tingling as he swallowed, to burning and then finally to a full out conflagration that raced from his head to his toes, ending in a steady heat in his stomach, it was rather more like swallowing the sun whole than like the Restorative Draught’s gentle feeling of sipping sunshine. The pain was decidedly worth the gain, however, as those three doses before meals had Draco feeling better than he had during his entire first term at Hogwarts. In fact, to the consternation of his dormmates, he began whistling a tune as he dressed in his school robes, ignoring the hissed complaints from the direction of Nott’s closed drapery.

Draco ambled to the Great Hall for breakfast, where Pansy commented on Draco’s chipper appearance (using somewhat less positive vocabulary to do so). Draco couldn’t help but grin, despite his attempts to remain aloof and seemingly unaffected.

“I have this feeling. I’m going to have a really good day today.”

Pansy’s face contorted as she regarded Draco with suspicion. “What exactly did you do during your holiday, Draco?”

“Nothing unusual,” Draco replied mildly, enjoying, for once, her natural tendency to pry. There was absolutely no reason to suspect that today would be any better than the previous one, or the next one, but Draco was filled with the enjoyment of the moment, and determined not to let Pansy, or anyone else, ruin it. He did manage to suppress a moan when biting into the sweetly decadent flavor of a freshly baked Chelsea bun, but barely, and had to hide another smile behind the sweet he held in one hand as Pansy’s glare deepened.

Draco placed the bun carefully down on his plate and cleaned his fingers of stickiness before continuing to eat with a knife and fork. He did have manners, and would use them, but couldn’t resist that delicious first bite, warm from the oven and dripping in sweet glaze any more than he could resist… well… resist…

“Potter.”

Draco sucked in a breath too quickly and began choking as Pansy sneered the name Draco’s conscious mind had been avoiding. Too late, he looked up and realized Pansy was not reading his mind, but speaking directly to the named person in question. Draco’s grey eyes widened as they met familiar bottle green ones behind glasses, and he was almost relieved before he remembered he was still choking, and realized that the pain on his back was Pansy beating at him with her arm.

Granger, who had apparently also studied a bit of medical magic “just in case” she’d said, appeared around Harry’s shoulder at that precise moment, and sent a blessedly perfect _Anapneo_ spell at Draco and cleared his airway. The choking was instantly gone, just as he started to feel lightheaded. The whole of the Great Hall was silent, as Pansy’s shrill voice had reached a seemingly new peak of sound, capable of rendering whole roomfuls of children mute. The wailing and whaling both stopped simultaneously as Pansy realized Draco was no longer choking and Draco took his first full breath.

_What was that you said about a really good day?_

Oh, and yes, with the new potion of Hermione’s, Draco had enough energy that Drake could be fully present in his mind again with no risk to his life force. Joy upon joys.

Draco ignored the drawling voice in his mind and quickly resettled himself, adjusting his robes and smoothing back his carefully slicked hair. He cocked an eyebrow at Granger and Potter, wondering at their appearance at the Slytherin table.

“Thank you, Granger, for your level head in a crisis. Without you, apparently I would be dead before any of my companions realized they were wizards.” Draco met both Hermione and Harry’s glances before he turned a frosty look at the other Slytherin First Years, all still gaping at him.

Pansy recovered first, despite recent exertions, and turned her own cold look onto the Gryffindors.

“Yes, well, it’s so lovely that Granger was here to save your life, Draco, but really, it was Potter that came over here. What could he possibly want?” The question was nominally directed at Draco, but her sneer was for the pair across the table from where Draco was seated next to her.

“Unfortunately,” Draco paused, eyeing Crabbe and Goyle as if to ensure they understood that _they_ were the most unfortunate ones at the table. For Merlin’s sake, what good were minions if they didn’t even try to save your life when you were dying right in front of them?

“Unfortunately,” he repeated. “I’ve been unable to ask Potter about his presence, as I am so newly recovered from near death. If you would be so kind as to stop glaring at the Gryffindors like they’re newly hatched horned slugs, possibly they would feel invited to explain.”

Pansy’s expression was wiped clear as she turned to face Draco directly. He was treading a fine line, insisting on polite treatment of Gryffindors at the Slytherin table, but he had the upper hand after her outburst had make her look foolish while he remained poised, and would capitalize on it to ensure everyone remembered just who was who. Draco had been a bit concerned when the Slytherins returned from holidays and seemed to only then realize that Draco had not gone along. He’d been an afterthought for a moment, while previously he had been too wrapped up in his own concerns to notice, and he was slowly asserting himself to regain his rightful place in the Slytherin pecking order.

The newly blank face Pansy presented was slowly turning red as he let the silence unfold for another second before he let her off the hook. He turned his attention away from the dark haired witch, and focused back on the disheveled boy in front of him.

“Potter?”

“Malfoy,” Harry paused, as if the name felt as foreign to him as calling him “Potter” had started to be to Draco. He continued quickly, rushing out words as if there was a time limit imposed.

“Hermione and I needed to see you about that Potions assignment we were discussing last term?” Harry was being intentionally vague, smart enough to know he couldn’t just saunter up to the Slytherin table and chat at Draco as if they were friends. Well, they were friends, but still. Draco was grateful for Harry’s uncharacteristic level of subtlety in this case, and realized that Granger was wringing her hands as they waited for Draco’s reply. Clearly she had coached Harry on what to say, since if he were too familiar, Draco would be forced to delay speaking to them. This way he could leave to speak with them now and appear slightly put out instead of appearing to consort too freely with pair. Hermione had mentioned she was concerned about the level of interest in Draco and Harry’s friendship among the teaching staff, and clearly she was putting those concerns into practice.

“Certainly, Potter, Granger. I’m done here. I’ve rather lost my appetite for the moment.” Draco stood and gestured to the pair to lead the way. “Shall we?”

Draco was unable to suppress a small smirk back at Pansy as he swept out of the Great Hall.

_Well played. Pansy always did lose her head in a crisis._

Draco started to laugh but it was quickly cut short as he turned to see both Gryffindors looking grave.

“What is it? You both look as if someone died. I’m not dying again, am I?” Draco contained a wince as he realized how absurd he sounded.

Hermione was quick to reassure him. “No, no! Nothing like that.”

The three were well on their way to the library and Hermione peered around as if looking for eavesdroppers. She lowered her voice to say, “Let’s wait until we get to the library. I don’t want anyone to overhear.”

Draco was relieved that his feelings about the day had not gone so quickly awry and followed along to the group’s regular table in the library. Once they arrived, both Harry and Hermione continued to dart looks around as if the shelves themselves might be listening. Draco tapped his foot to reign in his impatience and waited for them to spit it out, whatever it was.

Draco would live, it seemed, but grow to regret his impatience. He could have happily lived much longer without the sort of trouble that was now brewing. It was definitely _not_ going to be a really good day. 


	12. Recreational Skulking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess what?? You guessed it! I'm alive!!!

Chapter Eleven – Casual Skulking

 

After his impromptu, less than clandestine meeting with the Gryffindors that morning, Draco passed through each of his classes with little thought for the subjects being taught. He knew he was drawing attention to himself, at least from the overly observant Pansy, and possibly from some of the other Slytherin First Years. During History of Magic, Professor Binns had called on Draco to provide the names of the leaders of the Great Goblin Rebellion of 1667 and Draco had been unable to come up with a single one. Drake had wryly suggested “Sleepy” and “Dopey” as possible goblin-hoard leaders, but Draco ignored his input.

_Well, I don’t know why I even bother. You won’t accept my assurances about Snape, you won’t trust that I remember Professor Quirrell being up to something during first year. Why do I even bother?_

Drake’s mental voice had a definite coldness to it that indicated to Draco that his companion was pouting. They had been arguing all morning about the Gryffindor’s assertions that Snape was trying to kill Harry.

Harry and Hermione had presented evidence of Snape’s lurking around the third floor on Halloween night, and a disturbance during the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch game that Draco had previously chalked up to Harry’s inexperience with flying. Snape’s obvious loathing of Potter, and what Draco knew of Snape’s history with Potter’s father did make somewhat compelling arguments. Draco knew his godfather to be capable of nearly anything with the right provocation, but he was not certain **what** that provocation might be in this case.

_Why is it that you are not listening to the ONE person here that has lived through these events already?_

While Drake couldn’t exactly shout inside Draco’s head, he could and did make his presence more forceful from time to time when he was particularly upset. Drake was railing against Draco’s dismissal of his opinions and Draco was suffering the consequences in the form of a ringing in his ears and an ache behind his eyes.

As the Slytherin students were released from their last class of the day, Draco decided to forgo dinner in place of a little casual snooping. He had visited Snape in his personal rooms only twice since September, but he was certain he remembered the correct way to get there, and thought he could bypass any protective spells with help from Drake. He determined to head in the right direction and convince Drake to help on the way.

 _If you don’t help,_ Draco mused, _I suppose that I might get caught and punished, and then be unable to continue my research into the Stone._

Draco sauntered down the corridor casually, projecting the image that he had every right to be in the dungeon at this time. Most people would not bother someone they assumed was doing something important, and Draco had perfected the art of looking as though he belonged wherever he was. It was when people acted sneaky that they got caught being sneaky.

_You have just as much to lose as I do without the Stone. There is significant risk in this plan, with very little potential to gain. I think you’ve been spending too much time with Gryffindors._

Draco scoffed aloud before realizing it, and glanced around sharply to ensure no one had overheard. The most difficult part of having an obstinate future-self stuck in your head all the time was that it was difficult to maintain composure while arguing with yourself. You always knew in advance the points your other self would try to make and could therefore be prepared against them. He’d found that one solution was to avoid rising to Drake’s bait, ignoring the comments meant to incite him, and focusing instead on the fact that **he,** and not his older self, was in charge of their physical body.

_You can’t stop me, so you might as well assist me._

Drake responded with a noise that Draco was certain his own self was much too well bred to make.

He was nearly to Snape’s rooms now, and was moving along in the shadows of the dungeon corridor. He wasn’t concealed, but he wasn’t worried about anyone coming upon him at this hour, as most of the school was in the Great Hall. He kept aware of his surroundings, however, as one never knew when they might come upon something unexpected. As he rounded the final bend in the corridor before the entrance to Snape’s rooms, he was alerted by a noise ahead of him in time to pull back his steps.

Drake’s voice sounded in his mind. _Two people speaking quietly._ Drake murmured a charm that Draco didn’t catch and he felt an incredibly odd sensation, very much like something trickling, cold and wet, over his head and rushing down his body.

 _Disillusionment Charm._ Drake supplied. _Wasn’t sure it would work if you didn’t already know the magic. Figured now was the time to try. Be careful, we don’t know who is lurking about._

 _I thought you said Snape was innocent?_ Draco prodded as he crept around into sight of the speakers.

_I said that Snape was not trying to kill Harry. That is a far cry from saying that Snape is innocent of anything malevolent. You need to work on your ability to see distinctions. Slytherins thrive in the gray areas between what others consider right and wrong._

Draco resisted the desire to tell Drake that he knew what it meant to be Slytherin, and was glad for his restraint once distracted by the events occurring outside Snape’s door. Draco had inched around the corner in time to see Quirrell exiting Snape’s rooms, mumbling to himself in alternating voices. One voice was Quirrell’s normal stuttering, meek tones, and the other was a voice like nothing Draco had heard before. The voice was strange and distorted, high pitched but commanding, and seemed to be lecturing Quirrell on his failure to acquire something. Draco froze in place automatically and therefore missed the details of the conversation for fear he would be discovered. Quirell swept past him, long robes wafting the scent of garlic and decay as he passed.

 _See? I told you!_ _Quirrell is clearly up to something! What other reason would he have for entering Snape’s rooms alone?_  Drake’s voice was a hiss in Draco’s mind, as though his other self was whispering even though there was no possibility of his being overheard. The tone of triumph in his voice made Draco prickle impatiently, but he was forced to agree.

 _You’re probably right,_ Draco admitted, _but it does afford us an opportunity to take a peak around, since Quirrell so thoughtfully left all the wards down._

Draco advanced on the wooden door set into the stone corridor, still listening and watching his surroundings intently. Quirrell had apparently made no attempts to cover his tracks, leaving Snape’s door ajar and the torn edges of magical wards sparking random flares of color that looked like what occurred during a wizard child’s first uncontrolled magical manifestations.

Draco cautiously inched the door open and peered into the room. He’d never have a better opportunity to allay the fears of the Gryffindors and ensure they focused their attention on the Philosopher’s Stone instead of on the admittedly unlikable Potions Master.


	13. Much More Than Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... all I can say is that I'M SO SORRY to anyone that has been waiting for my next update. I apparently severely underestimated how much time and attention school was going to take from me, and then as soon as the quarter was over I had a list of urgent things that needed to be completely. Unfortunately the world doesn't take "I really need to work on my fanfiction" as a legitimate excuse for not being a grown up. Who knew? 
> 
> I'm hoping to keep updating regularly over the summer and get this story finished before classes eat my life in the fall again, and so please don't despair that this chapter ends on a bit of a cliffhanger. The next chapter is already titled "Letters From Home." ;) So we'll be getting to that bit right away. 
> 
> Please forgive me my long absence and enjoy!

 

 

Chapter Twelve – Much More Than Too Much

 

 

Draco had much to think on. His nocturnal visit to his godfather’s quarters had produced nothing in the way of evidence against Snape, much to his relief and the Gryffindor’s disappointment. It had, however, left him with thoughts, and those thoughts were supported by wisps of memories that Drake had been trying to solidify.

He was sitting alone at a table in the library, or as much alone as a person could be when they had a voice in their head. Was it still alone if the voice was also him? As much as that thought deserved consideration, now was not the time. He was sitting alone, not at his usual table in the library, because he was hiding from Harry and Hermione. Truthfully, he was hiding from everyone, but it was the Gryffindors he was most avoiding.

Pansy was still pouting over her embarrassment in the Great Hall and was therefore not speaking to him, and Draco did not have the time or patience necessary to repair that damage at the moment. The witch had lost her head and created a scene, and she would just have to live with the gossip. While Draco would admit he had pressed the situation to his own advantage, which had exacerbated Pansy’s faux pas, he comforted himself with the knowledge that he wouldn’t have been able to do so if she hadn’t already been making a fool out of herself.

Draco forced himself to attend to the thoughts he had meant to be thinking, and push everything else away. The Philosopher’s Stone. The three headed dog. Quirrell. Snape. His thoughts churned, moving the pieces of the puzzle around, trying different configurations, combinations that would result in understanding. Draco felt the tickle of a memory at the back of his mind. Something about a dream? A dream with Harry in it?

The thought slithered away before he could grab hold, and Draco sighed heavily.

 _You won’t think of anything I haven’t already considered, so why are you bothering?_ Draco suppressed the urge to snarl his response. Drake sounded smug and superior, despite being responsible for the entire mess they currently found themselves in.

_This would be a lot easier if you could actually remember what happened with the Philosopher’s Stone in your first year. You would think that the one person that had actually been through this situation before would be of more assistance._

The smug tone turned affronted as Drake replied. The argument was one often tread between them over the last few weeks, with neither ending on an advantage.

_I’ve told you, I didn’t have anything to do with Potter and the Stone last time. It wasn’t as if I was a member of his inner circle. He figured it out last time, so he’ll figure it out this time. It’s that simple._

_Of course it is,_ Draco’s reply was sharp, his temper frayed from lack of progress. _It’s not as if someone has gone about mucking with time or anything. Everything is just the same as before, is it? So we can obviously rely on **completely changed events going the same way.**_

Draco felt a hint of satisfaction as he made his point. Drake was unable to dispute the fact that things were different this time around, and even with his “spoilers” from the future, they were working blind. It was unfortunate that making his point served no purpose in the greater picture. They were still stuck.

Draco needed the Stone or he would die from trying to sustain two life forces. Someone was trying to kill or seriously maim Harry. It was actually a matter of life or death and even the presence of his self from the future was no help. Draco allowed himself to stare aimlessly off into space as he whirled the pieces around in his mind again and again. Surely there was a way to make it all fit. A piece that would connect the seemingly unconnected information he had.

A sudden sharp jab to his torso sent a jolt of surprise through Draco. He yelp and tried to cringe away from the pain and stand and whirl around to see who it was, all at once. The result of this was an undignified flail as he shot up from his chair, tangling his legs around it at the same time, and landed in a heap on the floor. He hadn’t even managed to get his wand out of his sleeve. He could hear Harry’s familiar laughter in front of him, but there was no Harry to be seen. Draco blinked at the space he was sure his friend occupied, ready with a pointed word or two about sneaking up on people, but saw nothing.

Draco felt the absurdly strange sensation of hands he couldn’t see grasping him to help him stand, along with a friendly pat on the shoulder. His eyes rolled around the empty space in front of him, seeking a hint of the boy he knew must be near.

“Harry Alfonzo Potter, I demand you show yourself at once!” Draco resisted the urge to accompany his order with a foot stomp. Proper friends did not turn themselves invisible and sneak up on others. It just wasn’t done.

“How did you know it was me?” Harry queried, his face appearing as he drew off a cloak.

Draco gasped as he stared at the garment in Harry’s hands. “Where, in the name of magic, did you get that?”

“Oh, this?” Harry’s response was much too nonchalant, leaving Draco to believe that Harry had not a clue about the value of the possession he was currently holding up for Draco’s (somewhat limited, due to its lack of visibility) perusal. “Got it during the holidays. The note said it was my dad’s.”

Draco sent a boggled look at Harry before making a conscious effort to close his mouth and narrow his eyes from their disbelieved widening. “Are you telling me that you have been given an Invisibility Cloak as a family heirloom?”

“Guess so,” Harry replied with a grin. “Are they rare?”

Draco sputtered. “Rare? You want to know if they are rare? Yes, Potter. I would say so, just a bit.”

Sometimes it hurt Draco’s brain to realize how little Harry knew about the magical world he lived in. He pushed aside his inclination to sneer at Harry’s lack of proper upbringing. It wasn’t his friend’s fault he’d been raised practically by wolves, and at least he had someone like Draco to steer him in the right direction, through example and education. A bit of that sorely needed education was on the tip of Draco’s tongue, but Drake’s sudden mental shout drown it out.

“THAT’S HOW HE DID IT!!”

Draco once again found himself boggling. Why couldn’t the people around him speak in a way that made sense? What was Drake having a fit about now?

“ALL THAT TIME, THE BLOODY ARSE HAD AN INVISIBILITY CLOAK!!” Drake’s roar made Draco wince and press a hand to his temple.

Harry’s frowning face filled Draco’s vision, and he realized Harry had stepped closer and grabbed his wrist.

“Mate, you okay?”

Draco shook his head. It was too much all at once. Drake was clearly unhinged, Harry didn’t understand the fundamentals of _magic_ for goodness sake, and now Draco had a headache. Before he could respond, both of the boys were distracted by a brisk tapping sound. They turned as one to the window, where a large coal black owl with bright yellow eyes stared at them from beyond the glass. The tapping repeated, the owl lifting one large clawed talon to the window. The other talon clutched a piece of parchment.

Something cold and icy slithered down Draco’s spine as he watched Potter stride to the window and relieve the bird of his delivery. He didn’t need to ask Harry who the letter was addressed to, the owl having been nearly as familiar as his own. Draco had watched it soar in and out of his father’s study more times than he could count over his life.

This was bad. This was very bad. Lucius Malfoy was not the type to send letters privately, preferring all eyes to be watching as he favored his only son with the attention of correspondence. The fact that the letter was arriving now, when it was more likely there would be no one to see it’s receipt spoke volumes about the contents of the note. Draco reached out a trembling hand and took the offered parchment from Harry without a word.

 

 


	14. Letters From Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! I appreciate everyone that has stuck with this story despite its (many) gaps between chapters! I have a plan, and I'll keep trudging along until I get there.

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen – Letters From Home

 

_My Son,_

 

_In the days before the Statute of Secrecy, children were sent to Hogwarts after they had reached their thirteen year as opposed to the current fad of sending children at eleven. It was thought that parents had a duty to their offspring to be the driving force of their initial pursuit into pedagogy, and that parents would more adeptly guide their children in the path most suited to their future._

_It should not surprise you that this change was enacted by those that wished to provide a magical education to those of less fortunate birth, who would be unlikely to benefit from parents with the extensive magical knowledge necessary to properly guide them at home. It is also interesting to note that one of the catalysts of this change was the discovery that the strength and character of one’s own magic is often set on an unchangeable course in those two critical years between 11 and 13. Children that will become the most powerful among us have by then shown their exemplary talent clearly, and the natural inclinations it will follow. Fascinating research, to be sure._

_As you can imagine, the news of this discovery was more impactful than simply changing the age that one begins their magical journey of learning. It was seen as a tool that was able to shape the future of wizards and witches, and the very future of the magical world._

_Of course, as is true with any great knowledge, the snake often comes with fangs. This discovery was used in many ways, including the unfortunate. If a child in this critical period was not allowed to express their magic fully, often it was not able to grow stronger. Horrifically it was found that if the child was pushed too hard, like a rope they would snap back, their magic reflectively shrinking to protect itself. Those who sought methods to control their children used it as a threat against misbehavior. It is fortunate for all our sakes these techniques are no longer practiced._

_Interestingly, this effect is also at the root of why children are forbidden from doing magic outside of Hogwarts, not, as many assume, to protect against discovery at large. The regulation serves to protect a child against mismanagement of their magic which could result in permanent impairment._

_History of Magic is a fascinating area of study and I do hope, my son, that you are learning much._

_L. Malfoy_

_P.S. Do write to your Mother, Son, she worries when she doesn’t hear from you._

 

_\---_

 

_Dearest Father,_

 

_I would like to thank you for the enlightening information you provided in your recent missive. I found it fascinating, as I know you intended._

_I have succeeded well here at Hogwarts at distinguishing myself at the top of my year. There are only a few students able to compete with me academically, and none at all socially. My half year marks will show this and I look forward to your pride at the end of term when I arrive at the top of the class._

_I promise you, Father, that I am acquitting myself with all the proper poise as would befit the Malfoy heir and am well on my way to making the connections in life that will benefit me in the future. I thank you for the guidance in suggesting that Crabbe and Goyle would do well as companions in my year, and have found them to be good fellows._

_Another fellow I have met is Harry Potter. I am sure you have heard that Potter and I have developed a friendship. I consider him among those it would behoove me to be on familiar terms with in my life, as I am sure you can agree, Father. I know that you are always interested in learning more about my studies as well as my social pursuits and I am looking forward to visiting with you these coming Easter holidays._

 

_With affection, your dutiful Son,_

 

_D. Malfoy_

_\---_

_Dearest Mother,_

 

_I must first express my sincerest apologies that I have not written sooner. Thank you as usual for the wonderful care packages you have sent. I delight in opening them at the Slytherin table during breakfast so that all may see the affection you heap on me._

_As I beg my apologies for my lack of writing, do know that I think of you every day, Mother, as I strive to comport myself with the decorum you taught me, as befits a Malfoy. I am a very picture of proper manners, I so swear it._

_Mother, I must tell you, though I tried to resist. I fear that Father is cross with me for my friendship with Harry Potter. Yes, that Potter. I have done my best to reassure him that my friendship is one of mutually beneficial connections, personally and politically, but I do not know if I have succeeded. While I would never ask you to intervene in such matters, I do beg that you, knowing me as you do, having trained me in all that one must know and be to take on a position such as I will have one day as the Malfoy heir, will trust that I make my decisions with purpose. _

_In other news, Pansy lost her head in front of the entire Great Hall! It makes me so grateful to you, my most poised Mother, for teaching me everything you know._

_I am enjoying my studies and am easily at the top of my class, save a few I shall not mention. I spend most of my free time in company with a few friends and keep on top of my studies. I know you are proud of me, Mother, for I learned it from you._

_I miss the Manor this time of year. Is there still snow? Is the winter garden blooming? Do the house elves miss me?_

 

_All my love, your adoring Son,_

 

_Draco_

 

_\---_

_My Darling Draco,_

 

_It warms my heart to hear from you at last, my Son. After not having you home for the holidays, I do confess I began to pine._

_Be assured from your Mother that I have every faith in your comportment and choices at Hogwarts. Your father does as well, so please don’t fret._

_Remember to take time for fun, and be sure you are eating well._

_We have had several recent snow falls on the Manor, and it does look fine covered in a crisp, white layer. The winter garden is as beautiful as always, and I am pleased you remember it fondly. I am certain I would not know how the house elves felt about such things as your absence, just as it should be, but I can assure you that I miss you tremendously, my dearest._

 

_With affection,_

 

_Your Mother_

_\---_

 

_My Son,_

 

_It pleases me to have heard back from you so promptly. I do hope your studies are attended to in such a fashion as well._

_Your Mother was well pleased at having heard from you, and I was glad to see you attended to my request in that as well. Could a Father go so far as to say he hopes his Son attends well to him in all things? You reassure me that you do, and for now that will suffice._

 

_Be well, my Son,_

 

_L. Malfoy_

 

 


	15. Here There Be Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I'm buying a house! It's so excited! Also, time consuming.

Chapter Fourteen – Here There Be Dragons

 

As spring began with little sunshine and copious rain, Draco worried. He was aware of the perilous line he was treading, made only more complicated by the voice in his head that insisted he continue to defy his father. Draco could not claim a complete lack of responsibility, as he would have done his best to befriend Potter in any case, simply because the boy was by far the most interesting person at Hogwarts. Drake had simply given him an advantage that ensured he did not fail in his fledgling attempts at friendship.

_You’ve transfigured your robes and now you’ll just have to wear them,_ Draco thought to himself. His father would be expecting a more complete account of his actions at the Easter holidays and Draco would simply have to be prepared to give it to him. With his health so much improved, he was confident he would prevail and come away from the visit without suspicion.

Draco had briefly considered inviting Harry along for the trip to the Manor, but dismissed the thought nearly immediately. While Harry was reasonably well mannered compared to most Gryffindors (the Weasel’s disgusting habit of speaking with a mouth full of food sprang instantly to mind), he wasn’t ready for association with pureblood society yet. Preparing Harry for a visit with Draco’s parents was a task that would take more than the weeks that remained until the Easter holiday to accomplish, even with Draco’s full attention, which he could not afford to give.

As the weeks had passed, bringing the first hints of spring to the castle grounds, Draco strove for balance. He had never had so many tasks to focus on at once and he was finding it difficult to prioritize his time, while at the same time, nothing could move forward until they managed to discover the hidden location of the Stone. He was busy and stalled at the same time, which was maddening. It wasn’t, however, completely an excuse for the rash of reckless behavior that followed. Some of it had to be blamed on the influence of too many Gryffindors.

\---

Stalled in their attempts to discover the location of the Stone, Draco along with Harry and Hermione, had devised a plan of action, first on the list of tasks was to discover if the Gamekeeper Hagrid had any further information. Despite Harry’s reassurances that Hagrid was “a fantastic bloke” and “a right good mate” (sometimes Draco wondered how much time Harry was spending with the Weasel when Draco was not around to supervise, such as in the Gryffindor common room), Draco was not convinced the oversized school employee would have anything worthwhile to divulge, but he had agreed to the visit in deference to his friend’s insistence.

Despite his reluctance, Draco found himself headed toward Hagrid’s hut for his long delayed first visit for afternoon tea. He was accompanied by Harry and Hermione, and had been warned to avoid the rock cakes. Nothing had been said to prepare him for Fang, however, which Draco was unfortunate enough to discover moments after their arrival.

Hagrid’s greeting was effusive and Draco was proud of himself to manage a cordial nod despite the state of his hands, while both Harry and Hermione began chattering as soon as the door opened.

“Hello, you three! Come on in, right in, sit yerselves down!”

Draco managed a quick cleaning charm to his hands as he took in the single room. Hagrid’s hut was not large, despite being designed to accommodate such a large person. As he settled in his seat, he realized that the table made him feel uncomfortably as though he were four years old again, attempting to imitate his Mother and Father’s poised perfection during tea.

“Hagrid, we haven’t seen you around much recently. Have you been very busy?”

Hagrid was serving them tea and cakes that Draco was relieved to see looked like something from the Great Hall, no rocks in sight. Hermione’s question was casual enough but Draco tried not to wince as her tone was anything but. She had a lot to learn before suspect interrogation was second nature.

“Oh, not too busy,” Hagrid said. Draco couldn’t help but wonder if the man was normally that bad at lying. It was probably a Gryffindor thing. No subtlety.  

As they settled in, Draco noticed that the cabin was stiflingly warm. What had felt pleasant immediately after the very cold trek down to Hagrid’s was now much too hot. He’d already shed his winter cloak and scarf, and was now considering removing his school robes. Draco didn’t want to be rude, it was possible that Hagrid simply preferred to keep his house overheated, but he noticed that Hermione’s face was flushed with warmth, and Harry was looking longingly toward the window.

Something in the back of Draco’s mind stirred as he glanced at the roaring fire in the hearth. No, he was certain something was off about this whole visit, and not simply because a Malfoy was taking tea with an employee of Hogwarts.

_Oh, it might be something to do with the dragon egg in the fireplace._ Drake’s voice shouldn’t have been a surprise, but combined with his words it certainly was.

“Dragon?” Draco yelped aloud. Before Draco could be concerned that he’d just spoken aloud during a conversation taking place in his head, Hagrid startled and stood, knocking the table on his way up and causing their mugs to rattle across the surface alarmingly. Draco pushed back from the table slightly, which was nice, since he’d clearly upset Hagrid with his unintended outburst, and preferred to have a bit more space between them.

_Oops._ Drake’s tone was amused. _I think he’s a little sensitive about his new pet._

“What do ya think you know about a dragon, Malfoy?” Hagrid was looking agitated now, and using his large frame to shield the fireplace from view.

“You’ve got a dragon egg in your fire!” Draco’s mind was racing even as he responded. He was trying to question Drake and speak to Hagrid at the same time. Harry and Hermione were staring back and forth between Hagrid and Draco as if both had begun speaking a foreign language. To be fair, the conversation had started somewhat abruptly, and Harry and Hermione would have been hard pressed to keep up.

_And you were just talking about Gryffindor subtlety._

“I do not!” Hagrid protested. “I think you all should head back up to the castle. I am a bit busy today after all, Hermione is right.” Taking mugs of tea directly out of their hands, Hagrid began shooing the trio toward the door.

“Wait!” Harry shouted, causing even Hagrid to pause. They hadn’t even had time to gather their outer wear, and Draco was supremely glad not to be headed back out into the cold without it.

“Let’s start back at the beginning.” Harry’s voice was firm even as he raked his hand through his already disheveled hair, making it stand all on end like a wild bird. Draco made a mental note to talk to Harry about refraining from making a bad thing worse, but decided that the conversation could wait.

“Hagrid, why don’t you start with explaining why it’s so hot in here?”

Hermione’s gently asked question seemed to crumple Hagrid’s resolve to keep his secret, now that Draco had all but announced it for him.

“Oh all righ’, not like I could keep a secret from you three nosy neighbors in any case,” Hagrid rumbled. “I’ve just got myself a new creature to look after, s’all.”

Draco sat back and crossed his arms. He was looking forward to seeing how Harry and Hermione would react to the news that their “not at all dangerous, I’m sure” friend had a vicious monster hatching nearby. Drake had quickly filled him in on what he remembered of the dragon incident in _his_ first year. Draco was not certain he was glad to be on the dragon-secret-keeping side this time, and not the telling-McGonagall side. Though maybe they could avoid detention this time around.

“And the new creature is a dragon?” Hermione asked, her voice wavering a bit near the end.

“Well,” Hagrid hedged. “Righ’ now it’s just an egg.”

He went on to cheerfully regale them with the tale of his acquiring the egg from a cloaked man in the Hog’s Head pub over a game of cards. Despite their many and varied protests, none of the three were able to convince Hagrid that keeping a fire-breathing creature in a wooden house was a bad idea. They didn’t even manage to ask him anything about the Philosopher’s Stone, as the dragon conversation had taken most of the afternoon.

 

 


End file.
